The Islanders
by illogical squeeks
Summary: What ever happened to Cutler Beckett? No, he didn't die. He washed up on Elizabeth's island. And in a way, that was much, much worse... [Post AWE]
1. Washed Up

ONE: Washed Up

_All around. Splinters of wood. Explosions that made the entire boat rock. Completely oblivious to it all, a certain Cutler Beckett swept down the stairs, fingers stroking the wood, his eyes glassy and glazed. His mind was a mist. He couldn't think straight. Everything was going too fast. His men were fleeing; diving overboard. His ship was being blown to bits all around him._

_Everything was going in slow motion, but it was still too fast. Much too fast. He wished he could go somewhere safe and think about it. This sort of thing wasn't meant to happen to people like _him_. He knew that it was over now. It was just a matter of time. A matter of time and a well-placed cannon-ball..._

----------

When Cutler Beckett opened his eyes, he was surprised that his eyes were opening. Pain raced over his entire body. He felt stiff and barely alive. His mind felt blank, and everywhere, all he could feel was harsh, coarse sand, and he felt like he was full of salt. It's disgusting taste and smell and sting.

_I'm... alive!_ He thought, still too inexplicably tired to move. Slowly, memories began to fade into his consciousness, memories of his overall failure and ultimate incompetence during the big battle. _I find myself wondering if this is a good thing..._ Well, he certainly would not be welcomed back into the navy or the East India Trading Company in a big hurry. So this is what it had been like to be James Norrington...

He forced himself to sit up, pushing himself upwards with a groan. A ravaging pain shot over him. He sat himself up, running a hand through his hair. And it was his actual hair, too. His wig was gone. He also ran his hand over his face to, you know, make sure he still retained his good looks. Very modest is Mr. Beckett. He blinked a few times; his vision was swirling all over the place. Being him, he straightened his jacket and adjusted his cravat, though his clothes were extremely tattered. There were scratches and splinters on his hands, and his clothes were full of sand.

Pulling off a boot, he emptied it of salty water, seaweed, and an unlucky trout. Then he pulled off the other one, and tipped about half a kilogram of sand out of it. He put his boots back onto his poor, aching feet, and stretched his arm, his shoulder was jarring painfully, as if he'd slept with it in a bad position. There was a bit cut on one of his calves, and he looked down at one of his feet, thinking about how it seemed to be pointing in the complete wrong direction.

Cutler Beckett, however, could stand quite a lot of pain without giving it away; you have to, really, if your job is to go out into sea-battles and suchlike. It was the same with his emotions; no matter how strong, just lock them up in a dark place deep inside of you, and then it'd all be okay. You couldn't afford to show too much pain in front of trained soldiers who look up to you.

_Though I expect that particular chapter of my life is now officially over,_ Beckett thought, adjusting a cuff. _I guess I'll have to change my name and everything. How embarrassing. Unless perhaps I find some way to redeem myself..._ He was able to think a little straighter now, but he was still slightly worried about what had happened to him on board that ship. For the first time in a long, _long_ time, Beckett was actually ever so slightly frightened. He had never known he was prone to temporary insanity, as he decided to call it.

"This just isn't my day," He murmured to himself, looking at a smattering of blood on his waistcoat.

"It's about to get worse," Said a female voice. He looked up, and found the cold, unforgiving barrel of a gun staring back at him.

----------

It had been a few days since Elizabeth had been left on her island by Will, left to her own devices. She had taken his chest with the heart in it, and made sure it was securely hidden. She had a rowing boat; so she could easily get back to mainland. And sure, she would, for supplies and suchlike. But, well, she _was_ a wanted woman. Perhaps it was better to stay here, most of the time.

She was also beginning to wish that Will had chosen an island not so close to the battle scene. It was too late to change now, but bodies had been washing up non-stop since the big fight. Bodies in uniforms. Bodies made her feel guilty – looking at all of the young men who'd been massacred. They'd only been doing what they'd been told.

There were fruits growing on this island; some of them were unusual, but still, most of them were nice. She had a little rundown home too – Will hadn't planned on simply leaving her here on the island with nothing, you know. They'd checked it out on the single day they'd had, in between bouts of... bonding. Will had found a little stone mill, with a couple of rooms, and a door that bolted from the inside. He'd helped her refurbish it to proper living conditions.

Life was good. But... lonely. She longed for the day Will would come back; ten long, _long_ years to wait. Oh god. It seemed even more hopeless now that she thought of it. But she had promised him. She was willing to do it. She would.

She hadn't been sure what to do with the bodies. She stood at the top of the beach, her expression a touch sad as she watched another red-coated young man roll up the beach, but amongst all of the red, there was one body that stood out a mile, in fine silks and ruffles. Her heart quickened, a frown wrinkling her forehead, as she recognized the man. It was no other then Cutler Beckett, the swine.

Stepping carefully on the hot sand, she began to walk towards the body, until she was only a few feet from it. The waves crashed for a moment. Beckett looked almost peaceful; lying there. Almost. Elizabeth turned around, and began walking back away from the beach, when she heard a groan behind her. Slowly, she turned.

He was alive. God help her, he was alive. She quickly pulled out her pistol, keeping a tight grip on it as he began to inspect himself, pulling his jacket straight and so forth, his back to her. She heard him muttering to himself that it wasn't his day, and... well, the rest you saw.

"Elizabeth Swann," He said, wearily, "I stand corrected."

"Be quiet, Beckett. If the cannons didn't finish you off, that's just fine – time to meet your maker. The Devil wont be too happy that you're late." She hissed.

* * *

**NB:** A new story idea of what happens to Elizabeth after At Worlds End. I'm trying to write more seriously now, though I still found the occasional spot of humour popping up. Constructive criticism and feedback, please? I would like to know if you think this story is worth continuing. Much love. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, but I do own my writing. Thankyouverymuch.

Next update contains death, mess, dead man's chest! Wanton wound woefully wont water-down wayward war! (ack!) (and a rather rude door-slam too...)


	2. Wounded

TWO: Wounded

"Are you really going to shoot me?" Beckett mused, watching her closely. "It's much more... _personal_ face to face, isn't it? It differs a lot from shouting 'fire' to your rabble of pirates." He finished with a slight sneer.

"Yes, I really am going to shoot you," Elizabeth said sharply, "And that is because you have caused enough trouble with your greed."

"I prefer to call it ambition." Cutler said, smoothing down a lapel of his tattered jacket. Elizabeth wondered if he ever stopped messing around with his clothes. "And if you are going to shoot me, then... you go and do that, Miss Swann. My life is already over anyway. I just received a second chance, which didn't last too long. Such a shame." He seemed completely unruffled, though in truth, Cutler Beckett was unable to think straight at this moment in time. But Elizabeth didn't know that...

Was this some sort of trick? Was he playing mind-games again? She could never tell with Beckett, and it made her mad. He was practically telling her to shoot him, though. Was he suicidal? _My life is already over anyway..._ so he thought he had nothing to live for? Or was he just biding his time? She forced the questions out of her head, and kept every ounce of concentration on the gun in her hand, and Beckett's inexplicably calm face.

"I'm going to shoot you now." She felt rather odd, saying that to someone.

"Thank you for the warning." Beckett replied softly. Was that sarcasm? She aimed the gun, and then fired, some peculiar instinct making her close her eyes as she did so – her downfall, it would seem. It didn't feel the same, killing with a gun, killing someone once everything was over; killing a man who had just washed up on a beach. So she had to close her eyes...

----------

She saw the blood. That was enough proof he was dead, right? He fell backwards, and there was blood. Curtly, she turned to heel, and walked away across the sand, her steps hurried. She didn't want to stay here any more. She wanted to throw her gun into a hedge, get the cold, metal, killing _thing_ away from her. Beckett was wrong, she realized. Killing with a gun was very _im_personal; nothing like a good, fair swordfight. A gun was just bang – and then the opponent is dead. It felt like cheating.

Hadn't there been enough killing already? It was meant to be the end, wasn't it? As she walked into her tumbledown home, she tried to assure herself, it was the end now. No more killing. She wasn't counting on a midnight guest...

----------

The tapping at the door woke her up, and instantly she was suspicious. As far as she could tell, this island was uninhabited. She hadn't explored much of it, but there was no sign of any human life. She wondered if it was just the wind, when she heard it again – a smart rapping on the wooden door. She looked at the candle by the side of her bed, still flickering. She couldn't have been asleep that long, then – perhaps two hours? Who knew?

It was dark when she peered outside the window. She reached for her gun, feeling it's cool touch, and it reassured her. She padded up to the door, and then wondered if she should change out of her nightdress. She was torn, but then decided on simply opening the door. After scraping the bold back, she pulled the door open.

"I n- oh, it's... you..." She recognized the voice instantly. I'm sure you guessed this, but it was no other then Cutler Beckett. She frowned, and looked at him, trying to pick out details in the light. She saw the blood on him; one shoulder looked like it'd been shattered. Oh, what was this? She'd hit him in the shoulder?! Great. Just great. He seemed in a bad way, pale and tired, after the long walk from the beach in his current state, Elizabeth wasn't surprised.

"Why wont you die?" Elizabeth asked, sounding frustrated. He gave a small chuckle.

"You missed, Miss Swann," He said, "And... it hurts. I saw a light in the window, what else was I supposed to do?" He seemed almost reluctant to admit that he was hurt. Elizabeth rolled her eyes – typical of men. "Are you going to shoot me again?" He asked, again, very composed when talking about his own death. She noticed her gun in her hand, catching the moonlight, dangerous and gleaming in the pale glow.

Elizabeth wasn't sure what to say. She knew Cutler Beckett could sense it – he always was shrewd, observing people and gleaning small bits of information simply from the way they acted. She tried to keep her face impassive as she thought of what to do.

"Just... let me go to the next house on..." Beckett covered up a wince. One of his feet was sticking out weirdly too, Elizabeth noticed. "And you needn't think about me ever again. I will be dead to you. Gone from your life. I could go and get... a job..." His nose wrinkled in distaste as he thought of having to get a job with the 'common people'. Elizabeth almost laughed.

"There isn't a next house on," She replied instead, flatly. "This is an uninhabited island, a place I've chosen as my home, to be safe from the likes of _you_."

"Oh, deary me." Beckett said. He looked out across the dark woods – Elizabeth thought of limping through them, surrounded by animal noises, bleeding and hurt. She told her brain to shut up, mentally. Pity for Beckett? He didn't deserve even that. "Isn't this a conundrum?"

"Well, I'm not going to offer you a place to stay for the night," She said, keeping her voice steely. She knew it was for the best. "You'll probably kill me in my sleep."

"How observant of you, Elizabeth. However, I am currently lacking a weapon, a means, and a motive." He said, smoothly.

"A _motive_? I shot you, in case you don't remember. And since when have you needed a motive anyway?" Her jaw tightened, suddenly, "You've probably cheerfully killed _hundreds_ in your lifetime, Beckett. Are you expecting different treatment now? _Forgiveness_, perhaps?"

"No... I suppose, in your eyes, I haven't earned it." He said, seeming deep in thought. "Is there a way off of this island?"

"There's – no." Elizabeth changed her reply, hastily. She didn't want Beckett going off in her only rowing boat. His gaze was unwavering on hers, and she realized how feeble her cover-up had been; especially to a man like Cutler Beckett. After a pause, he simply nodded, however.

"Looks like my life is in your hands then, Miss Swann," He said in a soft voice. She glared at him; he made it sound so much worse when he put it that way. She _knew_ that Will would want her to kill him – absolutely. But when Beckett said it like that, it made _her_ the bad-guy; and the fact that he was injured. It wasn't fair. She took a deep breath, and then blew it out, slowly.

"I'm not going to shoot you here and now," She said, warily, "But I'm not going to invite you in, either."

She closed the door in his face.

* * *

**NB:** Thank you for the kind reviews! I have decided that I will continue with the full story... hooray! I was just wondering if perhaps this idea was a little dodgy, that's all. I hope for more feedback, and advice to improve my writing is welcome. 

Next update contains banter, slander, black-eyed panda! Bantering Beckett bloody begging?! (ack!) (and Elizabeth has a realization too...)


	3. Popping Joints

THREE: Popping Joints

When she first woke up the next morning, she briefly forgot all about Cutler Beckett – ignorance is bliss, they say. She changed, though she didn't know why she bothered, seeing as there was nobody on this island – and it was this train of thought that brought the memory of Beckett back to her mind, and made a scowl come to her face. Once she was fully presentable, she picked her gun up from besides her bed, and walked up to the front door, scraping the bolt back and throwing it open.

There was no sign of him. Oh god, had he already gone and found the rowing boat? Was he halfway to mainland Jamaica now? _Don't be stupid,_ she told herself, _there's no way he could row on that arm._ She glanced around, and finally saw him, sitting up by a tree, looking straight forwards, his good arm holding onto his shoulder like he was worried it would fall of. Elizabeth sighed. Again with the making her look like the bad guy...

"Beckett. I want you off my island." She said, standing above him. He looked up towards her, calmly.

"Well, that's a shame, because you told me yourself that there is no way off of this island." He replied innocently. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She knew that he knew that she knew a way off of the island... uh... knew.

"There is one way," She said, waving her gun at him, pointedly.

"Yes. Because the situation is _completely_ different right now then it was yesterday night," He said with a smirk. "I figure that if you couldn't shoot me yesterday, it would be no different today."

"_Don't_ anticipate me, Beckett," She replied heavily, "I have the gun."

"So you do." He replied. There was a pause. Elizabeth noticed Beckett looking thoughtful, as if thinking of a way to put something. "I... where is the food on this island?" He asked, finally.

"How do you know there is any?" She asked with a grin. It soon faded.

"Well, you're living here, and you seem your normal weight," Beckett said, "So I'm assuming that you find some source of nutrition on this island with... no way off." Okay, that pause proved it. He _knew_ there was a way off of the island. He just didn't know what it was...

"I'm not your servant, and you're not my superior," Elizabeth snapped, "You can go and find your own food, if you want any."

"Quite the spitfire, are we?" He murmured, "Very well, you can go."

"Are you giving me _orders_?" She demanded. To be honest, she was a little taken aback. She could _go_? Perhaps it was just the fact she'd already been on here for a few days, and the loneliness was already going to her head, but any human company – if you could call Cutler Beckett _human_, that is – seemed to be a welcome one. She didn't think he'd be sending her away. He was hurt – injured! Her company was being rejected even by _Cutler Beckett_...

"No, Miss Swann," He said with a sigh. Elizabeth felt childish for raising her voice like that. This was what made her _furious_ about Cutler Beckett; he could belittle her with a single raise of the eyebrow. Ugh.

"Alright," Elizabeth said, still unsure. Her eyes wandered to Beckett's foot – the one that looked a little bit off. Cutler Beckett followed her gaze. He had taken his boot off, and one sock, and the foot was exposed to the cool morning air, and seemed okay enough. Suddenly, Beckett jiggled it, and Elizabeth noticed a piece of bone moving around under the skin. Beckett watched, amused, as Elizabeth backed away, staring at his foot.

"It doesn't hurt that much," He said, in an almost cheerful tone. She looked away from the foot, angry for finding the injury so _interesting_, in a rather gruesome way like a young boy poking at worms, and with a curt nod, walked off down the path. You just walked through the woods for twenty minutes, and then down a cliff path, and then you were at the beach. At the other side of the beach, you walked over the rock-pools, and then through some bushes, and that was where the majority of the fruit grew; she knew that, up on the plateau that she lived on, Beckett would find no food. She waited for the feeling of cold triumph to fill her up.

There was none. This shocked her.

----------

Beckett watched her walking, until she was obscured by leaves. Once her footsteps vanished, he looked down at his foot, and with one deft movement, clicked the joint back into place. He'd popped the joint as a child once, falling out of a tree; and since then it had been a neat party trick, though not for the faint-hearted. The weakened bone had simply popped out during the rough and tumble in the ocean.

But Elizabeth didn't know that. Beckett didn't like playing this way; relying on Elizabeth actually feeling _sorry_ for him, but he needed it for survival. And unlike yesterday, now, he felt a need to live. His valuable life and intellect had nearly been stripped from the world, twice in quick succession.

He would not let it happen again.

His shoulder, however, was not play-acting. The bullet hadn't just clipped it; it had gone _through_ it. The pain was immensely strong, perhaps the reason he'd passed out on the beach earlier. He frowned at the memory. It had only been for a few minutes, but had the tide been coming in, he could have drowned before escaping, yet _again_. So many threats to his life in so little time!

Blood was smattered on his clothes, his fingers, his neck; he was a mess. He wondered if there was somewhere he could wash. The thought of the long trek down to the beach did not inspire hope in him. One of his legs still felt a little roughed up, and his shoulder – well, he tried not to even think about his shoulder, though the pain was always there, gnawing away at him from inside. He hated it. It made him feel weakened. He _was_ weakened.

And Elizabeth Swann had not even been polite enough to offer him... oh, I don't know, bandages made of rags or something. Surely she had some sort of medical kit in case of emergency? She was an intelligent woman, was she not? But she hadn't gone out of her way to make him comfortable yet. How unashamedly rude of her. The wound on his shoulder throbbed every second, and he wasn't sure if the bullet had come out the other side, or if it was still in there...

So he needed help. And there was only one person here; a certain Miss Elizabeth Swann. And he'd have to get this help, no matter what the cost... So that he could get off of this island, by any means, and start a new life for himself, as a new person. It would be hard work, but he would work his way up the ranks again.

He could do it. He _knew_ he could do it.

Devious bugger, isn't he?

* * *

**NB:** Much exploring of Beckett's character in this here chapter! He seems out of immediate danger, for now; though is Elizabeth really convinced by his acting? Hmm! It's up to you to decide, I guess. Concrit would be much appreciated. From me... 

Next update contains slacking, acting, not much tact... ing. Free food for feasible fugitive? (ack!) (and Elizabeth not only hates Beckett, but is annoyed by him too...)


	4. Acting Mannerisms

FOUR: Acting Mannerisms

"I may have brought you food," Elizabeth said sharply, "But _don't_ go getting all friendly about it or anything. I just had some to spare." She wasn't sure _why_ she'd brought him food, though. She guessed that she felt rather... obliged to. Like she'd just found an abandoned kitten. _Oh god... now I'm comparing Cutler Beckett to a helpless, baby animal? I really am going mad,_ she thought to herself.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," He said, and he actually sounded grateful. And, to Elizabeth's surprise, she found herself pleased that she had earned his thanks, though she squashed the feeling immediately. It was just his way of _saying_ things, it made you feel proud to have the smallest bit of attention from him.

"Don't get used to it," She snapped, though she found her gaze drifting ankle-wards yet again. It looked pretty bad; there was this bony bit sticking out and everything... "You're just lucky I'm such a good person. Unlike _you_."

"Why do you hate me so, Miss Swann?" He asked her, his flinty eyes searching her face, which turned stony.

"You killed my father," She said, quietly. The memory of her father drifting past on that boat in the world of the dead still made her eyes come to the brink of pooling, though she blinked the feeling away as fast as she could. Not fast enough for Beckett, however; he saw everything. His face remained expressionless as he gazed at her, though was that a hint of remorse she saw?

She turned, and walked away.

----------

_I am quite the actor,_ Beckett thought to himself, as Elizabeth walked off. Remorse? Hah, no expression ever appeared on Beckett's face without him first acknowledging and analysing it. That flicker of regret that had passed over his face had been, of course, acting. He planned the movement of every single part of him carefully and strategically. Grateful? For what? Elizabeth bringing him a handful of browning fruit? But he did what he had to do. Survival; that was what was important.

He'd noticed the tears beginning to well in her eyes, even though she'd blinked them away before they could even show; it was merely the blinking that brought them to his attention. He was like that. _So she still feels bad about her father,_ he mused, _I suppose I should be feeling guilty right now._

But he didn't. It would have been nice to think that Beckett felt badly for Elizabeth, that he occasionally regretted his decision to have her father murdered. But, well... he was Beckett.

----------

Elizabeth peered out curiously from the window, at Beckett, still sat under his tree. Was he actually going to move anywhere, or what? She supposed it must be a little bit hard, with the horrible injured foot and all. The thought of her father had brought the reality back home. Here was the man who had killed him; however, she hadn't yet kicked his head in.

Well, she had shot him.

But that hadn't really been revenge, had it? She'd missed; well, not exactly, but she hadn't killed him. She looked at Beckett again; the fruit remained untouched. She thought carefully. Beckett hadn't eaten in... probably about three days. He must be starving. Why was he resisting the food so?

_Pride_, she mused, _He doesn't want my help_. But after a few more minutes, she saw his hand, almost tentatively, lift up one of the fruits and she watched it being lifted up to his lips; he took a small bite, chewing slowly, his expression was, yet again, deep in thought. His brow was furrowed as always, and his eyes staring into nothing, his mind whirring.

She wondered what he was thinking about. Probably trying to get off of the island. She thought for a moment. _She_ could row him to mainland Jamaica, or perhaps even somewhere else, herself. But the thought of being stuck on a rowing boat with Cutler Beckett did not appeal to her; and she didn't trust him that much anyway. She knew he was perfectly capable of handing her over to the redcoats just so that they would swing more in his favour.

Damn, why did that Beckett have to come along and make everything so... _complicated_? But at the same time, Elizabeth felt sort of happy, having to work all of this out, and, of course, for the human company; even though a lot of it was spent arguing, or her trying to restrain herself from breaking something on his head. Her brain wasn't just wasting away, and her days weren't being spent staring balefully out to sea, hoping against hope that the mast of the _Dutchman_ would suddenly lift out of the waves, and she'd see Will dropping by for a visit, saying that Calypso had decided it was ok after all for them to see each other after all...

He certainly did look different without his powdered wig. He looked much more... ordinary. _Too_ ordinary. His hair fell in dark blonde and brown waves, and he had tied it up in a small queue at the back in a way – she realized with a pang – that reminded her of Will's hair. She cursed Beckett and his hairstyling choices.

There was a cut under one of his eyes, and his clothes had been torn all over the place during his time in the water, though not enough to cause any indecency, which was lucky. Elizabeth sighed, thinking about Beckett. He made her uneasy... he was simply too calm all the time; always collected.

Though when he'd failed to give the order to fire in the final battle... that had perplexed her. He'd looked like he was in a dream, there... Almost, well, _lost_...

She shook the thoughts off. They were not good. _Not good_.

----------

"Are you ever going to move from this spot, Beckett?" She asked him.

"Where to?" He replied, giving her the impression that he wasn't fully concentrating on what she was saying, "Is there another home or something? As much as I detest having to sit here under this tree, I can find nowhere better to go."

"You want me to find somewhere better for you to live, like some servant?" She sneered.

"Yes... yes, that would be much appreciated." Beckett said mildly. Elizabeth glared at him for his nerve, and then turned and stormed off, fuming.

* * *

**NB:** This is a rather in-between chapter; exploration of feelings towards each other and all of that. But next time, a plot begins... Beckett continues with his deviousos planning, and Elizabeth hates Beckett, but at the same time, can't bring herself to kill him. Well, not yet, anyway - a friendship fiction indeed; it's not looking like it at the moment, is it? Thank you for the reviews. 

Next update contains sneaking, peeking, short, sharp speaking! Passing precious Port Royale in the past perhaps presumptuous? Probably! (ack!) (and Beckett has a bright idea too...)


	5. The Mountaineers

FIVE: The Mountaineers

"...but that wouldn't work, because..." This was the only part of the steady murmur of conversation that Elizabeth could make out. Beckett was talking... but to whom? She stepped out from around the path that led off into the forest, peering cautiously at him. She couldn't see anyone else around him.

"Who were you talking to?" She asked, glancing around the top of the plateau where she lived. The trees ended, and then there was nothing but rocky ground, some scrubby shrubs, and her ramshackle home, about fifteen metres away.

"No-one..." Becket said, "I wasn't talking. You must have been hearing things." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. _Of course,_ her expression said. She suddenly noticed the remains of a fire a few feet away from him. Then she frowned as her sharp eyes picked out something else.

"You've been in my _home_?!" She cried, gesturing towards some candles and some matches, arranged neatly next to him. "How... how _dare_ you?!"

"Making a fire without matches is harder then it looks," He explained, with a half-hearted shrug. Elizabeth was furious. He'd been in her home... her own living space... she could just imagine him, pawing through he cupboards and drawers... "They were lying on the counter," He hurriedly explained, as if reading her mind.

----------

_Elizabeth had not been simply left here with nothing. Soon after Will had left, and her tears had dried, she took her rowing boat to Port Royale. Tying it up, she'd snuck back home, back into her old, boarded-up house. It had been almost like a dream, returning home – she had wondered if she'd ever see it again. Technically, what she'd done was breaking and entering, but it didn't matter _that_ much. _

_She ran her finger over the banister of the stairs, taking away about an inch of dust. She frowned. How had her home come to deteriorate this way? Exactly how long had her father been away from here? _

_The thought of her father made her stomach clench in sadness towards the loss, hate towards Beckett, and a deep sense of loneliness that had penetrated her at the time of her mothers death too... sighing, she ran on into her room. She glanced around her ladylike bedroom, shock making her stand stock still. It was exactly as she remembered it, yet it seemed so... cynical. Cold and dull and lifeless. _

_She opened a sack she'd brought for provisions, though she realized now how much it made her look like a burglar with a swag bag. She stuffed some clothes in, none of her finery more the clothing she wore on her days in – still expensive and not very useful for much, but easy enough to move around in and with no need for a corset... though she couldn't resist also nabbing a couple of corsets and fine dresses. She didn't know what she would need them for, but sometimes she missed the feel of fine silk on her skin. _

_Then she remembered a stash she'd collected when she was young – her secret adventure box. In case she ever needed it. She smiled to herself, as she slid under her bed, and pulled up a floorboard, groping around for a minute before pulling up a handful of letters. She stared at them blankly for a moment, before remembering – they were the ones from Commodore James Norrington, from when they'd been courting, and he'd gone overseas, sending her his letters full of love. _

_She missed him too, realizing how much she hated was and money and greed – incidentally everything Beckett stood for. It killed everything. Though she had never loved James, she knew that he had been a good man; sweet and sensitive, and he had saved her from the _Flying Dutchman_ too. He hadn't deserved his death. _

_Reaching even deeper into the hole under her bed, she suddenly felt her fingers scrape metal. She pulled out the biscuit tin with a smile on her face. It contained two boxes of matches, twenty small candles, a lantern, some biscuits, a dagger made of wood, an old key she'd found (and then discovered was for her window), a small blanket, a cloth, her second-favourite teddy bear and some spare underwear – tiny ones, fitted for a nine-year-old. _

_She dropped the box into her sack. _

_Out and about at Port Royale, she also picked up some baby clothing – she could hope all went according to plan on that front – and a large supply of food and water, and bought various other things. Money was no problem to her – her family had always been wealthy, and in her snooping around her home, she had found more then enough to provide for her, possibly for her entire lifetime. She'd taken as much as she could find, not knowing when she would be able to return..._

----------

"It still gives you no right to go... sneaking about in my home!" She snapped at Beckett, coming back to the future, from her little memory. "It's despicable! And I thought you had a bad leg, anyway," She folded her arms.

"It's getting better," He said with a shrug, "Sort of. But anyway, off of such trivial matters..." _Trivial_? Elizabeth scowled at him, but he continued to talk smoothly, "What I think we... _you_ should do is go to the top of that mountain over there." He nodded ahead. The plateau went on, straight, for a while, before rising up into a large, rocky outcrop. "From there you could probably see the whole island... and then see if there is any sort of village or something on here."

"Oh, do you now?" Elizabeth said through gritted teeth. But, as much as she loathed to admit it, Beckett was right. It _was_ a good idea. If there was some sort of civilization on the island, it would make everything one hundred times easier. She laced her fingers and held them over her stomach, thinking about it. It had been a few days now. No change. Was she pregnant? Wasn't she? She decided to simply leave it for now...

"Though it does look a _little_ dangerous, for one..." Beckett said, almost warily. His eyes flicked to her. Like he was waiting for her to realize what he was suggesting, and then accept it. She frowned for a moment, before understanding.

"Both of us go, together? Well I'm not leaving you here, near _my_ home on your own," She said, a little pleased she had managed to work out what Beckett had been thinking, without him having to sigh and explain it to her like she was simple. Aha, take that, wig-man! He shrugged at her, nonchalantly, as if he didn't like to be the one to offer the idea.

"It would probably be easier..." He said, quietly.

"Right..." Elizabeth tapped her chin with a finger, thinking, before continuing, "I have an idea. We'll go together. If there is a civilization over the outcrop, then you will go there. You wont leave the island, you'll just... get yourself a life and don't ever bother me again." She glared at him, "Deal?" There was a pause.

"Deal," He said, offering her a hand. She frowned at it distastefully, but shook it anyway. They regarded each other for a moment.

"When do you suppose we head off, then?" Elizabeth asked him, folding her arms "And by the way, _no_ trickery. I'll be keeping the gun for this journey, thank you very much."

"I wont gain anything from killing you, you know," Beckett said, airily, "I don't know why you suspect me so."

"You _don't know why_ I _suspect_ you?!" Elizabeth cried, frustration filling her up in a sudden rush. She was never one to keep her emotions hemmed in, and now she had so many mingled emotions floating around in her head, she was finding it hard to think straight. She hated him. Hated, hated, hated him with a passion; that was a fact.

She hated him. She had a gun. She had a motive.

He wasn't dead. It was just... too infuriating for words. Was she so pathetic and needy of social interaction that she was willing to keep her worst enemy alive so that she wasn't alone? Was she just losing her touch, and didn't want to kill any more? Was she scared to be left on her own? What was it? What was wrong with her?

She was unwillingly being pulled into a bantering, spiky sort of half-friendship... and she wasn't sure she wanted to end it. And that was – well, not betrayal. But close to it.

* * *

**NB:** Concrit time; are they in character? That is the biggest question in this story, if it would work with them both in character. Be honest, I can take it, heh. Anyway, it's beginning on a small plot - I much prefer big adventure escapades, so this adventure is a little tame in comparison, but it does serve a nice little plotline, and a possible friendship blooming. 

Which I always find fulfilling to read.

Next update contains naming, blaming, toying and gaming! Ceaselessly clambering and climbing, countlessly calculating crumbling of the cliff-face! (ack!) (and lots and lots of surnames too...)


	6. Cutler Hunter Dorsey Beckett

SIX: Cutler-Hunter Dorsey-Beckett

"I suggest we leave as soon as possible!" Beckett declared. Elizabeth sighed. She'd been on the island for about a week now, Beckett for four days, give or take. A week – it felt like it had been decades. Time was going to slowly. The first days without him had gone torturously slowly; time seemed to resume it's normal speed once she got to Port Royale, but she couldn't stay there. The island she was on seemed to have some sort of curse... and time stood still.

"So you're going to go mountaineering a few days after being blown up, drowned and then shot?" Elizabeth put on her best sneer, "My, what a brave young man we have here. Are you that desperate to get away from me?"

"The way I remember it, you, Miss Swann, are the one constantly reminding me that you have a gun and are not afraid to use it. I'm taking that as my cue to leave." Beckett leaned forwards with a grimace, before getting to his feet, somewhat unsteadily. He was still gripping his bloodied shoulder, though his various cuts and grazes caused by the sand seemed to be healing over nicely now.

"Congratulations, you can stand," Elizabeth said, flatly. "I'll go put together some supplies, and you can practice walking, though I don't expect you to grasp it immediately,"

"I'll do my best, O Wise One," Beckett replied.

Beckett and Elizabeth had a class of banter that was all their own.

----------

"I thought you'd broken your foot, or something." Elizabeth suddenly said, as they walked along towards her home. Beckett was still walking with a fairly definite limp, but his boots were on and his foot seemed to have lost all sense of gammy-ness.

"You don't possess much in the way of medical knowledge, do you, Miss Swann?" Beckett asked her, taking his turn at sneering, "I suggest you just leave it be."

"How can you walk so quickly, though?" Elizabeth asked, suspicion easily visible on her face, "Surely bone damage takes more then just a couple of days to heal?"

"It's not healed," Beckett replied, "I just don't squeal like a woman every time I walk on that foot. Discipline... one of the main teachings in the navy. The reason Jack Sparrow didn't last long in the East India Trading Company..." Beckett said the name of the company as if savouring the most delicious meal he had ever eaten.

"Jack worked for the EITC?" Elizabeth asked, wrinkling her nose.

"A long time ago..." Beckett frowned, "Don't you know the story? Then again, I doubt he would have wanted it to get out."

"Tell me," Elizabeth said, in as much of an ordering tone as she could manage, unaware that the topic of conversation had been veered safely away from Beckett's foot 'damage', which was just what he wanted. He gave her an enigmatic smile.

"Some other time," He said.

"Hmmph... fine. By the way, I _never_ want you in my house again. Do you understand me?" She turned to him, fiercely, "Never. In fact, I am putting this rule into place starting _right now_, so you might as well go back to your tree while I go and pack." Beckett frowned at her, but turned and walked away anyway, without bothering to reply. Elizabeth hurried into the small, tumbledown mill.

Beckett, meanwhile, had staggered back to the place by his tree, where everything he owned at the moment was. This consisted of some candles, some matches, and Elizabeth's donated fruit supply. It was rather meagre. He reached down, and picked up an unripe banana, green and hard as rock. What use was this?

And then a small smile came to his face. He put the banana into a pocket of his jacket, for emergencies only. He also scooped up the matches and candles, to take with him on the journey. He looked upwards towards the darkening sky, and a small frown came to his face. He looked back towards Elizabeth's mill, the door closed. Everything about it telling him to keep the bloody hell out.

So he went towards it.

----------

"How long do you think it'll take to get to the top of the mountain?" Beckett's voice suddenly piped up.

"Get out of my house!" Elizabeth spluttered, and then spun around, throwing the nearest thing to hand towards him with as much force as possible, without really knowing why. Even by her standards, that was a little hot-headed.

"I'm not, technically, in your house," Beckett said indifferently from the doorway, as a box of matches bounced harmlessly off of his chest. "Also, I already have some matches," He added.

"Yes... _my_ matches. My matches that you _stole_!" Elizabeth hissed, stepping forwards, bending down and scooping the box off of the floor, before adding them to the sack that she was planning on taking for the journey. "I take it you are ready to go?" Elizabeth quickly took a hold of her gun, and Beckett rolled his eyes, as if telling her that he got the point about the gun.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked her, instead. "I don't have anything to pack, do I? Speaking of things I don't have, you seem to possess a supply of clothing. I could do with some fresh ones, mine are a bit... frayed."

"There's _no way off of the island_." Elizabeth growled at him.

"So you say," Beckett said, raising one eyebrow, "But I don't think that you would willingly strand yourself on an island with no civilization or people to speak of with no way back. Why _are_ you here, anyway?" He asked, the question coming to mind. Elizabeth didn't want to go into Will and his new task at that moment in time.

"Some other time," She said, with a smug smile. _Let's see how _you_ like having your words thrown back in your face,_ her expression said.

"Fine, fine," Beckett waved his hands as if it didn't matter, "Let's just get going now. Are you quite done with the packing yet? We're not going to be gone for weeks, you know. No need to bring everything you own," Beckett's expression said something along the lines of, _women!_

"Yes, ready," Elizabeth snapped, "Now you shut up and follow me. Don't say a word." She stalked towards the door, shoving him as she went past. He staggered, and nearly fell, grabbing a hold of the side of her home, wincing as his foot scraped the ground. Elizabeth took a deep breath, resisting the urge to apologize. She would not give in to it.

Beckett nodded and began walking after her, his head downcast like a sullen schoolboy, one hand still cradling his shoulder. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and continued to walk, but the silence deepened to an uncomfortable level. Elizabeth began to worry a little... why wasn't he saying anything? Why couldn't she think of anything to say? Why was everything sort of... weird?

Suddenly, the worry vanished. In fact, Elizabeth felt a little bit like laughing... she could see now. Beckett was _sulking_. She turned around, looking at Beckett, who looked back at her blankly for a second, before frowning and looking away towards the side. They wandered across the plains, and soon they'd reached the bottom of the rocky outcrop.

"Time to get cracking, then!" Elizabeth said cheerfully. She'd donned a pair of boots, along with some rough-type clothes, it was still a skirt, but they were like the ones worn by washerwomen and suchlike; made of tough material, and it didn't matter if they ripped or anything. The ground gave away to rock here; hard and unforgiving. Occasionally there was a tuft of grass or even a tree, but otherwise it was bare all the way up. It looked a lot bigger from down here.

Beckett took his hand off of his shoulder, and looked upwards, looking slightly apprehensive, but Elizabeth could see his determination, the way he jutted out his chin, and began climbing up, boots crunching on stones, hands feeling the way up. The base of the outcrop was rocky, steep and possibly dangerous; however, on top of that, Elizabeth could see that it evened out slightly, for a much more leisurely walk up to the top.

Elizabeth began her climb, and wondered what Beckett was thinking.

----------

_Why did I even suggest this?_ Beckett didn't like to be seen by anyone scrambling up the side of a cliff in an ungainly manner. He preferred gliding across a marble floor, oozing magnetism, mystery and money. He also didn't like to be in the presence of one of the few people who he found hard to manipulate, use or charm. But life was tough, and he had to do this.

If there was civilization just over the hill, then of course he would go there. But he wouldn't simply stay there, as promised to Elizabeth. Any town that wants to flourish in the world – and in Beckett's opinion, what else could a town want? – _must_ have contact with mainland America. Which meant a port, which meant ships, which meant a way back. Perhaps not a way back to the champagne-quaffing, chandelier-swinging and diamond-encrusted life he had lived before, but he could work up to that.

He'd get himself a new name. Now what could it be? Cutler was not the most lovely-sounding of all names, even he himself had to admit. He'd always liked Beckett, though. The sharp syllables that could be easily snapped out. He was known more as Beckett then Cutler, anyway. It had always been that way.

A new name. He didn't want it to be too out of the ordinary. Calvin, Samuel, Simon. Connie Hutchinson. Ike, Orval, Hall. Joseph McConnell, Ray Malone. There were so many. Armand, Cedric, Sergio? Sergio was nice. Foreign. What about Hunter? That was a nice name too. Seemed to suit him. Hunter. Preying on innocent victims, sucking them dry. Yes, he'd be called Hunter. As for his last name... Kendall? Sargent? Santos? Paul? Ah, no, Kelley. Hunter Kelley. No, that was far too girly. _Kelley_. Hunter Carroll? Too merry! Hunter Palmer. That just sounded ugly. Hunter Weaver...? Wrong, that was wrong too.

He was about to begin going through an A to Z of last names, when Elizabeth finally spoke, disturbing his thoughts. He frowned slightly.

"Pardon?" He asked her.

"We're nearly there now," She said. She looked down at him. "It's getting darker, though. I didn't realize the day had gone on so much." Beckett had, of course, realized. But he had decided not to mention it so they could make a start quicker. "Once we get to the top of the steep part, we'll make... camp," Elizabeth pulled a face, as if thinking about how... friendly it sounded.

"Good, good. Yes. Fine." Beckett said, quickly. He noticed Elizabeth smiling slightly, as if about to laugh at him, but she quickly covered it. And then he continued his climb, wondering what sounded right.

Hunter Kelley was still in his mind. Too girly, too girly! Hunter Howard. Hunter Walsh, Goodman, Compton. Hunter Hunter. No! Hunter Bates, Hunter Wise. Lucas, Walters, Schultz, Buchanan. Hunter Burks – Hunter berks. Ah, how about Dorsey! That was rather good. Hunter Dorsey. Oozed class.

_Not_ Hunter Kelley.

----------

Beckett was being quiet. What sort of scheme was he hatching up? What plan was going through his mind? Was her impending demise at the centre of his mind at this very moment? Elizabeth didn't trust Beckett at all; she wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. _I wonder how far I _could_ throw him?_ She mused. Quite far, she'd imagine. Perhaps she'd get a chance to find out.

They were nearly at the top of the first rocky jut now...

* * *

**NB:** Heh, here they go. I love writing Elizabeth and Beckett banter, for some reason. It's fun. 

Next update contains witty talking, kitty talking, much rum gulping! Completely cracked Cutler coughs up covert casualness! (ack!) (and he's drunk, too...)


	7. Lorena the Cat

SEVEN: Lorena the Cat

"What's a good last name?" Beckett suddenly asked. They had a small fire going, and were huddled on either side of it, woollen blankets wrapped around each of them. The atmosphere was almost homely, with a almost a sense of camaraderie in the air, though Elizabeth was wary. She knew she couldn't, and shouldn't, trust Beckett. What if he pushed her over the edge of the cliff in the night or something?

"Rose is pretty. Or Isis," Elizabeth replied, arching an eyebrow in what she hoped was a cool and collected way, with a hint of ,'what on earth are you talking about?'

"I don't want _pretty_," Beckett said curtly, and then went back to gazing off into the distance. Darkness was falling – they hadn't climbed that much, but from here they could see above the trees, all the way to the ocean – and the last sliver of the sun fading away, taking with it all of the light. Elizabeth didn't look at it. Too many memories.

There was a small silence, and suddenly, Beckett started talking.

"Once, I knew a man called Thomas Salvatore Rose." He said, "He married a woman called Rebecca Bauer. She was barely more then a girl, still a teenager, and she was shipped over from Limoges – in France – to marry him, a man she'd never met. He was a successful man, and he was advertising for a wife. Her parents had run bankrupt, when stock markets dipped and could no longer support their high life. They needed their daughter to marry someone rich; and who else but Thomas Rose?" He paused for a moment, before continuing.

"He said he loved her, and she would say she loved him too in the broken English that she knew, but they didn't really know each other. They never had children, in fact I don't think they ever even slept in the same bed. Every respectable man was getting himself a wife, so Thomas Rose had thought to himself, why not? And Rebecca Bauer became Rebecca Rose." Elizabeth found herself nodding along as he spoke.

"They never had children, but they did have a cat. She was called Lorena, after a sister of Rebecca's, if I remember correctly. I didn't like that cat very much. She had a face that looked like it had been kicked – all squashed in the middle. Also, this cat was the most garish shade of orangey ginger. No, I didn't like Lorena...

"But I had to go to their house for some dinner party once, and Thomas and Rebecca were there, holding onto each others arms with detached interest and trying to look like a couple, even though they were embarrassed of being in each other's company. And that's when I thought that I never wanted to get married." Beckett's story seemed to conclude here.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked, in spite of herself. She didn't want to be hanging onto the story like a child being told a bedtime story, but she couldn't help but ask.

"Because I'd end up with some import-a-wife in a distant and awkward relationship, with an ugly squashy-faced cat in place of children and I would sit with a fake smile at dinner parties, and realize love does not, in fact, exist." Beckett said.

"You are mistaken about love. And what, exactly, was the point of that story?" Elizabeth demanded. Beckett shrugged.

"No point whatsoever. It just seems customary to tell stories once we're around a campfire. We're just missing the alcoholic beverages," He said.

"Actually..." Elizabeth looked uncomfortable for a moment. Beckett's turn to arch an eyebrow now.

"Why on earth did you bring booze on a mountain trip?" He asked.

----------

_Elizabeth was rushing around her small home in the mill, packing for her and Beckett's trip, throwing various bits and pieces into the sack, when she noticed it, tucked away at the back of the cupboard. Rum. Five bottles, round and bulbous at the bottom and thinning into a tube at the top, gleaming dully, the liquid inside glistening like poison. It _was_ poison – the poison of men, the poison of pirates. _

_But she'd brought it anyway. Why? Well... in case a certain pirate captain came by for a visit. She found herself doubting it highly, unless he wanted something off of her, but all the same, she hoped he would perhaps come and ease the dull monotony of her life on the island. Boring is definitely not a term that belonged side-by-side with the name Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth blushed slightly, thinking back to those crazy moments on the _Black Pearl_, his compass, the kiss. _

_But no. Jack Sparrow was lust; a one-night-stand, even less then that, in the face of the true love she felt for her husband, Will. Lovely, caring Will, who would go to all lengths to make sure she was safe. She remembered the piercing pain she'd felt, the anguish, as Davy Jones thrust his sword into her husband. _

_No, no, no! It was resolved! Will was alive, he was fine... Well. _

_Sort of. _

_To stop herself dwelling on such thoughts, she finally gave in, pulling out a bottle of rum and knocking it back. Suddenly, Beckett's voice cut through... and, well, she'd thrown the box of matches, and everything had become confused. But as she turned to throw some more things into her sack, she'd thought about her fear of Beckett pushing her off of the cliff while she slept, or something of the like. _

_Well, you slept pretty heavily if you'd been drinking, right? _

_And Elizabeth relished the very thought of a drunken Cutler Beckett, not being able to pronounce his long words and forgetting what he was talking about moments after speaking. She would pretend to drink, whilst making sure that he really drank, until he was completely off his head. And then... well, wouldn't that be fun? _

_She shoved the bottles into the sack, and stood, ready to go._

----------

"No reason," Elizabeth said innocently, in reply to Beckett's question.

----------

"Ela... Ele... _Elizabeth_, will you stop pushin' en'less amounts o' rum into my han's?" Beckett slurred, as she offered him another bottle. She'd managed to get nearly two whole bottles into him so far, even though when realizing it was rum, he'd frowned at her distastefully and told her that rum was a disgusting pirate drink.

"Tell me another story," Elizabeth said with a smile, putting the bottle of rum next to Beckett, knowing that he would most probably 'accidentally' pick it up and down it. It was one of the effects of rum... rum add rum equals rum. You just kept on drinking and drinking.

"No, nonono... I already _tol'_ you some... 's your turn now," Beckett said, waving an arm at her.

"I don't have any stories," Elizabeth said, with a small frown. She liked having Beckett continually spilling his guts about his life to her, she'd found out a lot recently. Like the fact that he used to have a rat called Teepee. And that he was bad at darts, and had once hit James Norrington in the backside with one. And that his mother had been a sinful woman, who thought he was a lot blinder then he actually had been.

"My mother, I hate her now," Beckett said, looking into the fire, "All she cared 'bout was... dresses, hair and fash'n." Elizabeth held back a giggle at his relentless slurring. She could hardly understand what he was saying! "She was a bitch, but wha' coul' I do? An' I never heard this when I was a child, but apparen'ly she was quite the str-stra-_strumpet_."

"I see..." Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow. How ungentlemanly it was, talking of his dear mum this way! The Beckett she knew and hated was coming undone at the seams! And all with a bit of strong alcohol...

"I remember this fellow... Bret Simon... he was always 'round when father wasn'. I reckon... oh, sod this," Beckett suddenly said, and flopped backwards onto the dusty ground, looking upwards towards the sky. Elizabeth had never been so surprised at him, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or ask him if he was quite alright. He was acting so un-Beckettish... it was a bit scary.

"Beckett?" Elizabeth asked him.

"Hun'er. Better get used to tha', shouldn' I?" Beckett said. Elizabeth had no idea what he was talking about. She shook her head slowly, smiling to herself.

"Goodnight, then, Beckett," She said, dousing the fire. Immediately, Beckett sat up. He was looking at her through the blackness.

"Fire," He said, "I mean... got to make the fire. It's gone out."

"I _put_ _it out_, Beckett," Elizabeth said, impatiently. Jesus, he'd lost it! He was on the stark raving madness train, on the way to bonkers-ville!

"Then _put it back in_," Beckett said, somewhat forcibly. He struck up a match, and started trying to put the fire back again. His fingers were clumsy, and the wind extinguished his little match's flame almost immediately. Soon, Elizabeth could stand no more of him trying to relight the fire, and did it for him, and within a few minutes, the fire was back.

"Why do you want the fire on?" Elizabeth demanded. This had better be good! But Beckett just lay backwards again.

"We need a fire," He said, lifting an arm into the air and waving his finger at her, as if to prove a point. She stared at him. He looked like the epitome of drunkenness, lying on his back with a bottle of his rum by his side, his finger raised in the air. Elizabeth frowned at him.

"_Because_...?" She asked, after a pause.

"'Cause we need a fire, woman! Mus' you argue with everything?" He asked her, sounding a bit exasperated, but mostly just sleepy.

"I don't argue with everything!" Elizabeth responded, angrily. Beckett chuckled.

"G'night," He murmured. Elizabeth frowned at him through the half-darkness, and saw that his eyes were open, looking up at the millions of starts above them; at this time of night, the sky seemed almost like a dome, falling down to the edges of the world, black and full of twinkling stars, with one quarter moon somewhere behind.

"You... you're scared of the dark, aren't you?!" Elizabeth suddenly cried, sitting up and pointing to him, triumphantly. In the place of the profuse denials she would have gotten had Beckett been sober, she got a slight shrug.

"I don' like it," He said, closing his eyes.

"_Don't like it_?" Elizabeth asked, wrinkling her nose. But Beckett was unconscious – dead to the world. Which gave her no chance to tease him. She sighed... maybe tomorrow night.

* * *

**NB:** Oh dear. Beckett is not going to be happy with Elizabeth in the morning. Some character exploration in this one, and the next one has even more. And also a hint of Sparrabeth, but not. I like Willabeth more. Aaanyway. Oh, and drunken Beckett is written a bit like a pirate... which is scary.

Next update contains affiliation, interrogation, character exploration! Hungover, haughty, hare-brained harridan habours not-so-harmonious verbal-harassment! (ack!) (and Elizabeth discovers more then she bargained for, too...)


	8. A Gallery of Broken Hearts

EIGHT: A Gallery of Broken Hearts

When Beckett opened his eyes the next morning, he immediately wished he hadn't. Spears of light shot at his eyes, attacking his vision. Even with his eyes closed, he could see it, the sun pounded down on his eyelids, making him see neon orange, with blots of green and purpley pink floating around in his vision. He frowned slightly – he felt terrible. What had happened last night?

Not only was his head in a terrible state, with a pounding headache that throbbed through his ears and to his temples, but he was completely stiff from lying on the hard ground, with nothing but a blanket for protection. Now, obviously, he'd had to lie on the ground for quite a few nights before – but now he was on rock, and it hurt. He thought that he could feel bruises in his hips, ankles, and shoulder blades. Not only that, but all of his injuries seemed heightened now; even more painful then before.

Especially his shoulder. He pushed himself upwards with a small groan.

"Elizabeth," He said, quietly, more to himself – and frowned, his expression darkening considerably. She'd done this. She'd been shoving bottles of rum into his face, and he had been unable to resist it, because the shoulder that she'd shot hurt so damned much that he'd had to keep on drinking it; to numb the pain.

And now it was worse then ever. He looked over to Elizabeth – she was lying there, her hands tucked beneath a porcelain cheek, her sides rising and falling slightly as she slept, a look of perfect peace on her face; nothing like the usual frowns that wrinkled her forehead and drew her mouth downwards. And then he saw it. The gun – the glorious shotgun that controlled him – lying by her hand. Ha! Her plan hadn't worked after all! He reached for it...

"What're you doing?" Elizabeth's eyes flicked open, and her brown eyes shot accusingly to Beckett, who froze.

"Nothing," He said, his hand stretched out, a mere centimetre away from the gun on the ground. Elizabeth scowled at him, and they both made a grab for the gun. Beckett managed to hit it away, and it spun across the rocky ground, coming to the steep part that they had climbed yesterday – teetering on the edge. But it didn't fall.

"Nice try," Elizabeth smirked, and went to get up. Beckett blinked, and had a sudden idea.

"Stop right there!" He ordered, though his voice was a little rough from the drinking ordeal last night, and he felt immensely tired and in pain. Elizabeth looked up at him, and froze. Beckett had his hand in an inside pocket on his jacket – and through the material, she could see a shape – a pointed shape. He had a gun in his jacket pocket, and he was pointing it at her, the brute!

"Where did you get that gun?" She asked, quietly, her hand a few feet away from the gun on the ground. Beckett simply smiled.

"Now, Miss Swann, if you'll be so kind as to not threaten me again. I do not like being in your control. I have tried – fruitlessly – to make you understand that you can trust me. But you refuse to listen, so I have to resort to this." Elizabeth could only stare at the shape looming from his pocket; imagining his finger on the trigger, ready to end her life at any moment.

Beckett was having to refrain from laughing uncontrollably, but he was a very good actor, and kept his face poker straight. Who knew that an unripe banana could have such uses?

----------

"If you had a gun all this time, why didn't you use it before?" Elizabeth asked him as they walked. Beckett had ordered her to leave her gun, and now they were resuming their walk up the cliff, though Beckett always made sure to keep Elizabeth in range of his... gun. Elizabeth lugged the sack unhappily.

"Wet gunpowder. Doesn't work." Beckett replied briskly. An answer to everything, that man.

For some reason, now that she was the one being threatened, Elizabeth felt like chatting to Beckett in a friendly matter. It's odd how things change; now she was the one trying to get _his _guard down. She thought to the story he'd told her while sober; about the doomed marriage of Thomas and Rebecca Rose. Had that been sucking up to her, or a real feeling of companionship?

She was so confused.

"Cutler Beckett, you told me a story about your friend, Thomas Salvatore Rose and his French beau. And you said love doesn't exist..." Elizabeth allowed a carefree smile to wander on her face as they wandered side by side – the way up was not so steep now, and they had plenty of time for idle chatter. "What do _you_ know about it?"

"Why are we talking about this?" Beckett said, his rather demanding tone coming back, now that he was the one in charge. Power shifts... interesting.

"You're hedging," Elizabeth said, poking the jibe at him deliberately, "You don't want to talk about it! Don't you know it's rude to answer a question with a question?" She raised her eyebrows at him. His ordering brought the strongest will to rebel with it. She was talking lightly, in a teasing tone, but she was also very, very frustrated. This was _her_ island! The home that _she_ had chosen! How dare Beckett put a gun to her and order her around!

...it didn't matter that she had been doing the exact same to him...

"Why do you want to know so much?" Beckett replied, though it was somewhat weak. Another question. He was getting a little frustrated as well. These relentless questions, and not on a topic he liked in particular...

----------

_Number one. Harriett Short. She was quite contrary to her name; tall and with a feminine build, and cream-coloured, flawless skin. Her eyes had been a very bright hazel – and slightly slanted, as Beckett remembered. She had a thin curtain of dark hair, dark black, the sort of black that seemed blue in some lights; from her Asian grandmother, apparently. She'd had an upturned nose, she was permanently looking down on people. _

_As nice as she looked, Beckett knew that she wasn't what you'd call nice, exactly. She was incredibly stuck up, sneaky too. Not the usual dumb blonde girl who just sat there giggling. This was a good thing, as far as Beckett was concerned, though later, he learned that a dim girl who would ask no questions was the perfect wife protocol, who he could simply leave in England during his sea-battles. _

_Her clothes had been unusual; enough to get her noticed. Oriental clothing, sometimes. Though taken by her, the much younger Cutler Beckett never said anything. And after a while, she simply forgot him. But he didn't forget her._

----------

_Number two. Shawna Fitzpatrick. She had had narrow grey eyes, which were closed to the world; she looked out, but nobody could see in. She wasn't too talkative – in fact, she was fairly timid, and small. She had wavy, light brown hair that was silky, and she always wore it up; never hanging loosely around her shoulders. She had a slightly crooked nose, from when she'd broken it as a child, and she always wore black since the death of her late husband. _

_Widowed, rich, and not very strong – mentally or physically – men immediately began paying attention to her. All of her ex-husband's money went to her; she had a small fortune all to herself. Beckett always found himself intrigued by her, though he – as well as most men – had a nagging feeling somewhere in him that was convincing him that he was in it for the money. _

_And one day, suddenly – bang! She'd eloped with a bloody fisherman, and nobody was any the wiser._

----------

_Number three. Jane Enid Reyes. She was a distinguished lady; and she, like the first of Beckett's infatuations, was not very nice. She had a sense to her, as if she were simply biding her time – waiting to strike. Her eyes were almond shaped, and oddly hypnotic; and she had a high forehead, telling of more intelligence then you would first suspect. She was also very angular, with no meat on her bones. _

_Her hair was straight, and went down her back, usually down. Her eyes were watchful, and insincere, and a sneer was never far from her lips. Somehow, the younger Cutler Beckett had found himself drawn to her – 'accidentally' following her around, and ending up talking to her all of the time. _

_There was one, brief affair. But it ended quickly. You can't have two control freaks in one relationship, to put it harshly._

---------

_Number four. Angelica Cohen. She was... dangerous. She always wore classy clothes, though she was not, in fact, that upper class. This could be told from her slightly ruddy skin, her unladylike mannerisms; and most of the time, Beckett frowned at the lower class. But somehow, she managed to fool him with her long words and nice dresses. _

_She had thick, wavy, dark brown hair which she always kept in two thick plaits that came down onto both of her shoulders, and her eyes were grey and always almost closed like slits, and seemed to have no life behind them. She had long fingernails, always painted blood red, and she was the one pursuing him this time. _

_Things happened. And then she was discarded._

----------

_Number five. Grace Russo. Last, but not least! She was laid-back; cool and collected, with blue eyes and hair the colour of coffee, and it was only as long as her neck – a style most unusual for these times. No woman had short hair, yet Grace did. She was very... different, and was sometimes looked down on. She wore bright clothes, and a lot of them seemed to have the theme of grey and green. She was very tall and very thin, and her skin was extremely pale. _

_One thing Beckett remembered about her, for some reason, were her large hands. Ungainly and big, unladylike to be sure, but she was never embarrassed about them. With her relaxed smile she would take his hand in hers, her deep-set eyes peering out from under her brow, which seemed permanently drawn down in thought. _

_She was very complex, and Beckett's favourite by far. But then he became a Lord and then he met Thomas Salvatore Rose and Rebecca Bauer and their cat Lorena, and decided that he would never get married; he grew distant, and soon Grace didn't want to wait any more and left him to marry someone else, like everyone else did._

----------

"Who did she marry?" Elizabeth asked, once again stuck right into Beckett's story. He frowned at her, seeming annoyed.

"A very dislikeable fellow called Sheldon Carroll-Porter, as I recall. I can remember who each of them married..." He paused, recollecting their names, before speaking again, "Dewitt Sherman, Harold Mosley, Jared Wilder... and... Patrick Daniels, it was. Yes." Beckett looked off into the distance again, as they walked.

"That's a long list," Elizabeth said, "Some would call you whorish, going after so many women." And then Beckett gave her a look – a look so full of poison and evil and hatred that Elizabeth immediately wished that she had kept her mouth closed.

"Nothing happened in the first two. Hardly anything happened in the next two. I was officially courting Grace, until I realized love didn't exist. Then I broke it off and she left and married Carroll-Porter, and I haven't seen her since." Beckett said, his voice nonchalant. Elizabeth frowned.

"You've _felt_ love, how can you not know it exits?" She asked.

"Love is a phenomenon that fools people – how can people see with stars in their eyes?" Beckett frowned, probably wondering why on earth they were talking about this, of all things. The... gun was still pointed at Elizabeth, but she still felt lippy. And, for some reason, she felt pretty sure that Beckett wouldn't shoot her. _Don't fall for it, Elizabeth,_ she told herself, _or the last thing you'll ever think will be – alright, I was wrong, and I shouldn't have trusted that bastard..._

"What does that mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"Love – it's everywhere. Stuck in peoples' minds. Love this, love that – ooh, I can't marry you, you're not my _true love_," He said the last bit with surprising venom, and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "People get fooled, and believe in it themselves. So when they realize that they like someone of the opposite sex, they immediately jump the 'love' bandwagon."

"You're so cynical!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Love maybe used to exist, but it doesn't any more. These are modern times – times that don't have any use for love." He said. Elizabeth stared at him, horrified. How could he believe that?

"Pessimistic oaf," She said, putting an amused tone to her voice.

"Gullible fool," He replied, raising an eyebrow.

* * *

**NB:** Hmm! Beckett's the one in charge now! And just some history for Beckett... a younger and nicer Beckett, that vanished soon after, sadly. Still - there may be hope for him yet. As for Elizabeth; she's just waiting for her chance to get the... gun off of Beckett. And when she does... 

Next update contains feeling slovenly, good recovery, banana discovery! Haughty girl's hopes hoisted down hole (literally), will hardbitten hoodlum be heroic? (ack!) (and there's a rescue mission too...)


	9. Mind the Gap

NINE: Mind the Gap

"Well... I suppose that was a bit of a wasted exercise," Beckett said, sounding slightly amused. Elizabeth, however, found her temper rising again.

"Nothing," She said in a low voice, "It was for _nothing_." They were at the edge of the outcrop now – and the scene that lay before them would have been funny, had it not been so hopeless. Immediately – and I mean literally one step after stepping up onto the final level – the ground dropped away down in a steep cliff, directly into the roaring ocean. Beckett looked downwards.

Elizabeth was sorely tempted to simply push him over the cliff and have things over with; but instead, she took a deep breath. She'd noticed something... Beckett no longer had his hand in his pocket! Which meant that the gun was free, free! Almost without thinking, she jumped on Beckett, who – probably thinking she was trying to shove him over the cliff edge like she'd thought about – leapt away from the side. This caused an effect that was not dissimilar to a rugby tackle.

"Ouch, you cur!" Beckett whined, as he found himself being pushed into wet grass and hard rock. One of the few places with grass on, and he had to land in it, typical! Elizabeth, who was on top of him with her knees digging into his ribs, pushed her hand into his pocket...

...and came out with a rather unexpected surprise.

"You... you..." She could barely speak with rage – her temper had been worsening just lately. Taking a deep breath, she tried to force herself to calm down, but it didn't work at all. "You were threatening me... with... a... _banana_?!" She cried.

"Well, yes, actually," Beckett said. He tried a smile. "When you think about it, it's rather funny, no?"

"I can't believe you!" Elizabeth snarled, and – without really thinking about it – began hitting Beckett with the banana; his face, neck and shoulders mostly. He flinched away from the blows, and after a moment, tried to push her off. She gave him a bash with the banana that was so hard it broke over his head.

They both sat in contemplative silence for a moment.

"Are you quite done yet?" Beckett asked. Elizabeth looked down at the snapped banana in her hand, and then at his bemused face. Not able to stop herself, Elizabeth laughed – at his expression as well as the plain weirdness of the situation. Beckett seemed confused at her change of heart, but relieved all the same. He swiped the banana off of her, and then regarded her with a sombre look. Then he smiled too.

"Wait... this means that there is only one gun on this island," Elizabeth said, slowly, "And it's down there!" She turned, and – dropping the sack of belongings – began plummeting down the cliff-side; small stones and rocks sliding down alongside her, boots slipping and sliding on the rocks.

"W-wait! It's not safe!" Beckett shouted down after her. Was he worried about her – or the fact that she was the only one who knew the way off of the island? Your decision, my dear friend – your decision. He started coming down after the cliff at a much slower pace then her, "Stop!"

"Nice try, Beckett," Elizabeth shouted joyfully over her shoulder, "The gun is _mine_!" Beckett could only look on helplessly as Elizabeth plunged down the rocky cliffside; and suddenly, with a small cry, vanished from view.

His heart stopped.

"Miss Swann?"

----------

Elizabeth was gasping for breath. She hardly dared open her eyes – but she knew she had to. She blinked – and realized that her eyes _were _open. It was dark. Very dark. Inches in front of her face, there was rock; craggy and unforgiving. The feeling of being squashed in from all sides was terrible; and she could feel grazes and bruises all over her arms and sides, and her face hurt a _lot_.

"Beckett!" She shouted up, "Beckett?"

"...where are you?" His voice sounded far away; and it was nearly snatched away by the wind. Elizabeth twisted uncomfortably; hating the feel of the sharp rocks closing in on all sides. Her shoulders were jarred into two sides, and her feet were not touching solid ground; they were resting on the sides also. She did _not_ wish to slip down even deeper.

"Here!" She shouted, "Where am I?!"

"I... oh..." Beckett's voice seemed to lose a lot of confidence in one single syllable. Elizabeth hoped that this wasn't bad news – but knew that it was, "You seem to have fallen down some sort of crevice... hang on..." There was a scrambling sound, and some small pebbles rained down on her.

"Beckett!" She hissed, "Get me out of here!"

"Alright, woman," Beckett snapped, "You know, I don't even _need_ to! I could just walk away from you, leave you here! But no, _nooo_, so you might as well be a little polite!" Elizabeth blinked. She wasn't used to outbursts from Beckett.

"Sorry," She said quietly.

----------

"And rightly so," Beckett replied curtly. He had been getting frustrated with the way that Elizabeth had been treating him, and always losing her temper with him; but being who he was, he'd kept it in. He took a deep breath to calm himself down – just like his meditational instructor had told him.

Before he'd fired him, that is.

Now, this _was_ a problem... Suddenly, after a small ridge with some yellowing grass on it, the ground vanished; and a thin crack in the ground like a miniature canyon was there in it's place. And that was what Elizabeth had fallen down; nervously, he went closer to the edge, and leaned over – he just caught sight of her hair. What to do?

"Is there a foothold?" He asked her.

"I... no," Came the uncertain reply, "I can't touch the ground. It sort of thins, but keeps on going down. I'm just jammed in between the two bits of wall; my shoulders mostly. My feet are crammed up against them, it's the only thing stopping me from slipping deeper..."

"Can you try clambering up?" He asked, looking left and right for anything that might be of help. But there was nothing.

"I'll... alright..." There was some scrambling sounds. Suddenly, there was a short cry from Elizabeth, and what sounded like a miniscule landslide – Beckett craned forwards, wondering what was happening. Elizabeth's heart-shaped face turned upwards towards him, and he saw blood also. "I can't!" She wailed, "The sides just slip down! There's nothing to hold on to!"

"Fine..." Beckett sighed. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. "Hold on one second," And with that, he grabbed a fistful of grass, pulled to make sure it was firm in the ground – which it was – and leaned over the abyss. He looked downwards, reviewing the situation. What to do now?

"Take your time, then!" Elizabeth glowered. He shot her an irritated look, and she shut up. Then he went back to thinking; turning the situation over in his mind. What now? What next? Hmm...

----------

"Wait here," Came his voice – close now. She looked up, and saw his pale face looking down at her thoughtfully; before vanishing. Beckett was gone. She heard footsteps pacing away across the ground, grass swishing, and then he was gone – and immediately, the worry that he wouldn't return began chewing at her insides.

He'd be back, wouldn't he? Of course he would. He needed her. Sort of... yes, he did. She knew the only way off of the island. He'd come back, he was just finding some way to get her out of here. But what if...? What if he didn't come back? She tried to tell herself to get a grip, but she couldn't; she couldn't bear the thought of her life lying in the hands of Cutler Beckett – sure, he'd been acting friendly towards her since he'd arrived on the island, but of course he would. He wanted to get out of this place, didn't he?

Still... she could at least try to get out, couldn't she? Bracing her feet against the jagged sides, she pushed herself upwards; pain simmered below the surface, but she kept her expression as calm as she could. She was grazed and scratched by the sharp rocks; and she'd bashed her chin on the other side of the crevice as she'd fallen, and warm blood was beginning to dribble down her chin.

Letting out a frustrated yelp, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the sides, she tried to push herself upwards; she did go up a bit, but then she slid down again, even deeper then before, her legs crushed between the cracks of the crevice as they came closer and closer until they were almost meeting. The sides were too steep and hard to grip; every time she tried, the only thing she got was a handful of small rocks.

Elizabeth was getting even more worked up now...

* * *

**NB:** Oh dear. More problems on Elizabeth Island. Will Beckett do the right thing and be a hero? Hmmm... well, not unless there's something in it for him, I'm sure... Thank you for the lovely reviews! Much love to you all. This idea was inspired by a dream, you know... 

Next update contains rescues, blues, unpaid dues! Will the wigged wonder weakly wade to the rescue or will he do the woefully wrong, weedy thing? Well... (ack!) (and he's up to his tricks again, too...)


	10. Hero

TEN: Hero

Hurry, hurry – there, done. Beckett had taken a little, eh, detour – but now he was rushing back up the mountain. He _knew_ that it was up here somewhere. Beckett finally spotted it a little way off – he bent down to pick it up; and winced, his shoulder straining as he lifted it up again. Ouch... Elizabeth had _better_ appreciate this. He picked up the sack of belongings that Elizabeth had dropped as she'd skipped off down the mountainside to grab her gun... honestly, couldn't she look after herself for even five seconds?

He wandered back down the hillside, making sure to keep a sharp eye on the ground for any similar crevices in the ground. Aha! There it was – he arrived, and promptly emptied the sack onto the ground.

"Beckett?" Came a worried-sounding voice from below.

"Yes?" He replied, picking up the two blankets and beginning to tie them together; using sailors expertise, he quickly made sure they were absolutely secure. He'd only really learned to tie sailors knots so that he could reprimand others on doing it wrong... but it did come in handy from time to time.

"Oh!" Elizabeth sounded surprised, "You're – I mean, you're here!"

"Yes... I am, Miss Swann," Beckett said, finishing the tying of the knot with a fantastic flourish, which he was a little disappointed nobody was around to see. One did not learn these things for nothing!

"I... do you know how to get me out of here yet?" Elizabeth changed her tone back to being haughty and indifferent, from the almost friendly tone that had been sneaking into her voice. Beckett sighed, and tested the blankets to make sure the knot wouldn't come undone. It was stuck fast.

"Yes... hopefully," Beckett said briskly, and he threw the tied-together blankets down into the crack in the ground – and hit Elizabeth in the face with them, incidentally. But Elizabeth had no time to complain, as she quickly yanked on the blankets, her feet scrabbling against the wall. Beckett was nearly pulled down into the hole in her eagerness to get out.

----------

"Beckett?" Elizabeth asked, as the blanket gave way a little in her hands.

"Steady on, woman!" Beckett said, crossly, "Let me brace myself first!" Elizabeth stopped grabbing the blankets, and stopped. There was some shuffling from above – and then he spoke again. "Alright... start now. But the place you _shot me_ in the shoulder is making this very difficult." Elizabeth sighed. Why did everything she did seem to come back and bite her in the backside?

"Okay..." Elizabeth said, and put her feet against the sides again, beginning to pull herself upwards. She did _not_ like this. All Beckett had to do was drop the rope, and she could break her back. She put her feet on either side of he crevice, until they widened out too much. And then... it was time to simply put her life in Beckett's hands.

Which she knew was a terrible mistake, but she had no choice.

"Ugh!" Beckett yelped as she took her weight off of one of the sides, "How much do you _weigh_?" She struggled up the rocky miniature cliff-face regardless; she was actually rather light for a person – but people themselves are quite heavy.

"I'd prefer not to answer that question," She said in the most dignified way she could, her feet scraping against the sliding rocks around her, the knot in the blankets shrivelling until it was the size of a pea – well, they certainly wouldn't be getting _that_ out in a hurry. Finally; Elizabeth saw light, and grass around her. Yes! Nearly there!

After another few seconds of pulling, she found the edge of the crevice with her fingers. Her muscles were screaming for rest; but she just had to get past this final obstacle. Taking a deep breath, she kicked off of the wall and scrambled up and out – into daylight again. Yes! She jumped to her feet, and patted herself down, checking for damage – specifically on her stomach. It was only after she heard a small cough that she remembered Beckett.

"Oh... uh... thank you," She said to him, feeling a little awkward, and wiping blood off of her chin. He was holding the coil of blankets, looked rather displeased, and was looking at her expectantly, holding onto his shoulder – his expression seemed to say, _yes, very gracious of you, and by the way – notice the shoulder that you _shot Elizabeth almost wanted to laugh at how indignant he looked. Would he ever let her forget about the shoulder?

"You're welcome. Now please will you refrain from any more of your charging blindly down mountainsides?" He asked her, turning his nose up. "If you're so desperate for your gun, go and get it now." And he frowned at her.

"You... you went to get it while I was down in the hole, weren't you?" Elizabeth suddenly asked, suspiciously. Beckett sighed loudly.

"No. No, I didn't." He said, pursing his lips. Elizabeth looked disbelieving – Beckett was a smart man, he'd _think_ of something like that. Unless he didn't want the gun for some reason, or wanted her to have the gun... or was actually too worried about her to go and grab it? No, no. Stupid. That just _wasn't_ Beckett. She was right – Beckett was indeed smart, and _had_ remembered the gun, but he was even smarter then she'd first thought...

"Why do you want me to keep the gun? Why have you changed your mind all of a sudden, eh?" Elizabeth demanded. Beckett looked at her tiredly.

"I've given up, Elizabeth. Must you suspect me so? There's no _point_. Keep your bloody gun." He said. Elizabeth frowned at him, but nodded anyway, and began making her way down the mountain again. Beckett looked up at the sky – it was darkening. He looked down at Elizabeth skipping down the mountain... and then knelt down and began putting everything back into the sack, from the rocky ground where they had been thrown as he'd hurriedly tipped it out to save Elizabeth.

And he felt rather underappreciated. _Really_.

"She deserves what I did," He murmured to himself. The gun was still down there, yes, but Beckett is a little bit more sly then that. Elizabeth had a right to be suspicious, really...

----------

As promised, there was the gun – Elizabeth scooped it up, feeling slightly more reassured at the feel of the metal. She looked up the cliffside, and saw Beckett ambling down, the sack thrown over his back, and a frown on his face... _he probably doesn't like the thought of hard work_, Elizabeth thought to herself sneeringly. But somehow, she also felt a little bad as he threw the sack to the ground in front of her.

"Well, this is where we stayed last night. We can use the old fire spot," Elizabeth said, trying not to sound too worried. Beckett looked a little mad, but he quickly smoothed over his anger and instead looked calm and collected, as usual. He even gave her a smile. Immediately, suspicion crept into Elizabeth's mind, and she held the gun aloft. "I still have this, you know."

"Yes. I do know." Beckett said, raising one eyebrow, fearless in the face of it.

"Alright," Elizabeth said uncertainly, and then she sat down, pulled out a small satchel of water and took a long drink. Beckett watched her, and then also sat himself down, shifting position for a while like a cat trying to get comfortable. That was actually a rather good metaphor for Beckett, a cat – once he was snug, he looked a lot like a contented cat. Elizabeth rummaged in the sack, and held a bottle of rum aloft. Beckett gave her a look that was so offended she immediately lowered it.

"I'm not falling for the same trick twice, Miss Swann," He said. She could see that he was trying to keep his temper – and knew that if one good thing could be said about Beckett, it was that he was extremely polite indeed.

"Will you stop calling me Miss Swann?" Elizabeth asked, wrinkling her nose, and also remembering a young James Norrington with a hint of sadness. "You're just like all the others!"

"You call me Beckett, don't you? You don't even bother adding a Lord... or... mister..." He trailed off a little at the end, thoughtfully. "I'd only been a Lord for a little while too. It was good while it lasted." He tilted his head, looking out at the sun – not quite setting yet, but getting nearer to the sea every second. "We should start making a fire now. And do you have any more food?"

"Ugh..." Elizabeth sighed. She'd brought from Port Royale enough food to last one person – _one_ – for a good couple of months. So why should she feed Beckett? He could live off of fruit and nuts, couldn't he? Well, probably. It wasn't _impossible_. She had been planning on going back to Port Royale, or perhaps some other port, again; to get more food from mainland. Ferry back and forth in the small rowing boat until she had enough food to last... uh, nine months, if all went well... longer... But then Beckett had distracted her, and she was _not_ leaving him alone on her island.

Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was pregnant or not. It had only been a week and a couple of days – it was impossible to tell! But apparently, around week three, she'd really start feeling it; hormones-wise. Telling Beckett about her pregnancy wasn't part of her plans... and she hoped the pregnancy wouldn't affect her judgement too much, because she needed her wits about her when concerning Beckett.

Speaking of... she was still suspicious about the gun. Suddenly, she flicked open the end of the pistol, and shook the gun out. Nothing came out. Looking sidelong towards Beckett with narrowed eyes, she snatched up the bag and yanked out a small lather pouch, hurriedly emptying it out.

No bullets.

* * *

**NB:** Beckett did the right thing! Sort of. Nearly. In a way... Reviews are _love_love**love**. All of those formats just to show my love!

Next update contains karate power love, gun-butt clubs, muddy shrubs! Lecturing lame lass for likely liability! (ack!) (and Beckett makes his debut as a comedian, too...)


	11. Karate Masters

ELEVEN: Karate Masters

"Beckett. Where are the bullets?" Elizabeth asked in a tight little voice. Beckett was not thrown by the change in topic of conversation. He just gave her a cool look, and then shrugged.

"How am I meant to know?" He asked her innocently.

"Beckett! Give them to me _now_!" Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, anger beginning to bubble up inside her. That sneaky, sly, devious, crafty... _cheat_! Beckett got to his feet too, somewhat warily. Elizabeth waved the useless gun at him, and then took a deep breath. "I can still club you with it!"

"Oh? Oh? _Oh_? Well I know _karate_!" Beckett said, putting his hands on his hips and talking in a fairly juvenile voice. Then he shrugged and his composure slid back to it's usual coollness. "Grow up, Miss Swann." And with that, he pulled the bullets out of his pocket, and threw them over the cliff-edge.

"_Beckett_!" Elizabeth shouted, rushing to the side. She ran a bit too far, it seemed, as she lost her balance and for a horrible moment was left pinwheeling on the edge of the cliff, her stability quickly vanishing. She was going to fall...

And then, in a single gesture, her wrist was grabbed and she was pulled back to safety, albeit on her bum. She looked up at Beckett, who was looking slightly angry, though more frustrated.

"Are you completely brainless?! Don't ever do something like that again, Miss Swann, you've already fallen down _one_ crevice – exactly how many threats on your life do you need, eh? There's just no point in trying, is there?!" Beckett said, waving his arm for emphasis. Elizabeth simply stared at him – and Beckett stopped at her look. She was just... staring at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry, _dad_," She said, her comeback somewhat quiet.

----------

Beckett realized that he was lecturing Elizabeth like a father does to a daughter, and wondered why on _earth_ that was the simile that came to mind. And he also remembered the fact that Weatherby Swann was dead, and it wasn't completely not Beckett's fault... which meant... in other words... that he had, in fact... killed him. Or got Mercer to kill him. Yes, yes – it was Mercer. _He_ did it.

Well, he had to make sure she was alright, didn't he? Otherwise, the way off of the island would be gone forever, and Beckett would be left here and... probably starve to death in winter.

He was also a little put out about Elizabeth discovering his gun-plan so quickly. Well, so she wasn't just a dumb blonde then. Damn. But he still had a plan, being him – you see, he had not thrown _all_ of the bullets over the cliff. He had one left; and only one. If he could get his hands on the gun, stuff the bullet in, then – well. He'd have control here; he'd be the one ordering Elizabeth around, ready to shoot her full of lead.

Though... this gun was being used for threatening a lot more then shooting. It had, in it's life so far, shot one bullet; which hit Beckett in the shoulder and completely failed to end his life. He wondered what would have happened had it's shot been true, and had it killed him on the spot. What would Elizabeth be doing now?

Well, she probably wouldn't be having as much... _fun_.

---------

There was a small silence as they sat down – Elizabeth made a fire, and Beckett looked out at the view of the island – chewing on his lip in contemplating silence. Elizabeth wondered what was going through his head... but gave up on trying to guess soon after. Beckett's blue-green eyes were like closed doors; and they let nothing in, even less an inquisitive Elizabeth Swann.

"Well, you know _karate_?" She asked instead, wrinkling her nose at his comeback earlier on. "What was _that_ about?" He snapped out of his thoughts, and looked at her, seeming amused.

"Well, you were the one telling me that you could still use the gun as a club – so I should be very, _very_ scared..." He said with a smirk. Elizabeth looked down at the gun.

"I _could_ use it as a club," She said, looking back at him.

"Just you try it," Beckett raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really know karate?" Elizabeth asked him. Conversation was taking up a rather friendly tone... now that the gun was gone, there was no power struggle, and the way they were talking to each other was almost... careful. They weren't sure what to do now. The gun had been keeping each of them in their place; dictating who was top dog and who wasn't. But now... well, 'top dog' was hard to determine, so a battle of words seemed to be the perfect thing.

"Of course I don't. Primitive custom." Beckett said airily. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow this time, shooting him a look that said, 'you judge things far too quickly'... she hoped. She looked down at the fire.

"What now?" She suddenly asked. What could they do now? Would they just start living life together on the island? Without the hostility of the gun, there wasn't a way they could threaten each other... but still plenty of ways to murder each other in their sleep. What could she do?

"How about you take me back to land and forget all about me?" Beckett asked her. She glared at him.

"I _wish_, Beckett, that I could. More then anything – _believe me_." She empathized the words strongly to suggest that she would like nothing better then to be able to dispose of Beckett and forget all about him. "But I can't, and you know full well why. You'd hand me straight over to the government, wouldn't you?"

"Uh, no..." Beckett said, sliding his eyes from side to side in the way actors did when they were portraying someone lying. And Elizabeth realized that he was joking. That was nearly two jokes in half an hour! Was he feeling quite alright?

"Seriously, Beckett," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes – though somewhat uncertainly.

"I guess I would – it's not like to have any hold over me or anything." He have her his white smile, "If I taught you and your friends anything, it was about leverage, wasn't it?"

"Yes... you do so enjoy _using_ people," Elizabeth said with a scowl.

"I don't necessarily enjoy it... well, actually, I do. Come to think of it, it's probably my favourite pastime..." Beckett smirked at the end, and Elizabeth wondered if he was joking, _again_. He was just trying to get her guard down again, wasn't he? Of course he was. Of course. Crafty git.

"Beckett... I'm serious. I don't want you on my island, but I can't get you off of here... I mean... ugh!" Elizabeth folded her arms, "Why couldn't you just die when you were supposed to and save everyone a lot of confusion? You are not wanted!" Beckett pulled a mock-hurt expression onto his face, and Elizabeth sighed. "Now everything's so complicated..." She sighed.

She had to go back to mainland to get food sometime. And she wasn't leaving Beckett up to his own devices on her island – especially as her home didn't lock from the outside; and if she took everything she owned with her, there wouldn't be any space to bring back food, would there? So if she were to go, she'd have to bring Beckett; and he would try _everything_ to escape. She'd have to get him a leash or something. And when – if – well, if she was pregnant, she'd find it hard to row the boat. So Beckett could do that for her.

Elizabeth was determined to be pregnant. She and Will had to have children – in ten years, it could be too late. And she wanted more then anything for this pregnancy to be real. She wanted a child – to carry on her family, carry on Will's family; they both had no siblings, and they both loved each other.

Yes. This baby would be a final display of their true love.

* * *

**NB:** This is a rather in-between chapter - but there is much friendship/enemyness all in one.

Next update contains cramp, damp, bathtime for a tramp! Energized, euphoric Beckett elatedly eddies in the elite hot spings! (ack!) (and passes his good mood onto Elizabeth too...)


	12. Exploration

TWELVE: Exploration

"...and not only are you _scaaared_ of the dark, but you... augh!" Elizabeth cried out suddenly; they'd just reached the bottom of the cliff face and were back on the plateau where they lived, when Elizabeth suddenly crouched down, taking a deep breath.

"Miss Swann?" Beckett asked, dusting himself down after landing smartly on solid ground once more. He looked down at her nonchalantly.

"It's nothing... cramp..." She gasped, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Beckett seemed a little confused – probably not knowing what cramp was, or why rubbing her stomach would help – but nodded anyway. "Gosh... alright, well let's go home now," Elizabeth got up, and then let out a little wail that sounded a bit like 'ahauh-hauh-_wahhh_', and Beckett looked at her with mild concern.

"Are you quite alright?" He asked, nervously, "I mean, did you hit yourself on something?"

"It's cramp, you dolt, it's..." Elizabeth started, but then closed her eyes and shook her head. Never mind – there was no point in explaining. It felt like someone was squeezing her stomach; very, very tightly. Oh god, was she pregnant? Was this a bad or good sign? Was her baby dying?!

"Oh..." Beckett seemed at a loss. Elizabeth longed to rip her shirt off, and then rip off the undergarment underneath, which felt very tight all of a sudden. But no. She brought herself upwards, and blinked.

"I'm going home. Getting some sleep." She said, and then walked off across the dusty ground with as much dignity as she could muster. Beckett pulled a face, but came after her anyway. Back to his tree...?

Hah. No. He was a fully-mobile Beckett now, and he was going to explore this island!

----------

The plateau was pretty boring – on one side, it went up into the huge mountain cliffside thing that they had just climbed; on the other side, a forest, and a path that fell away downwards to the beach. At the sides – the ground eventually turned rocky, and then dipped away like cliffs into the sea, with sharp rocks jutting out of the ocean for miles out to sea.

Dusty ground with the occasional shrub and piece of rock; nothing else. Elizabeth's ramshackle home was near the path down to the beach, and the trees grew thick and heavy. The place was dotted with rabbit holes, and Beckett had spied the creatures a few times, though they bulleted away at the sight of him or Elizabeth.

Past Elizabeth's home and down the path – it was a pleasant journey. Beckett hadn't really been able to enjoy the scenery as he crawled through in the pitch-blackness, hearing bushes moving all around him and only able to think about the bleeding wound in his shoulder – in fact, it still leaked sometimes, and Beckett was getting a little worried about it. But he squashed these thoughts as he wandered down the path, birds twittering around him, and the ocean roaring not so far off.

The path went downwards in a gentle slope – and it was easy to lose it, because there was no real marking of the path; you could just see a sort of trail where it was easier to walk then in other places. Beckett would reach out and pick a blackberry off of a thorny bush every now and again, chewing as he walked. He was almost permanently hungry now; fruit just doesn't cut it.

After about twenty minutes – though it had taken him near enough to three and a half hours to clamber up here last time – the trees ended and he was on rock; and the rock fell away into sand, and then there was a small beach with rocks jutting out of the sand every now and again; with a nice view of the curving horizon to boot. And there was nothing at all. No pieces of land close by, not even a ship.

Deep in thought, Beckett began walking across the small beach, thinking. He was walking around the entire island; and there was no way off. Elizabeth hadn't been lying. This island was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing on it – and there was no way off. Beckett furrowed his brow in thought – there must be a way off. Elizabeth's tone had given it away.

He didn't know that Elizabeth had decided to hide the rowing boat somewhere safe from Beckett's searching eyes; and that he had actually passed only a couple of feet away from it a few minutes ago. _Perhaps she has a friend who drops food off here every week or something_, he mused, _she must have _something_, it's pointless to maroon yourself._

After a quick search of the beach, which brought up nothing interesting, apart from a sword stuck into the sand which he decided to leave and about twenty decomposing bodies washed up, he began walking from one side of the beach towards the other, ignoring the bodies and the smell as much as possible. Most of them were being dragged out back to sea anyway. On one side of the beach, the sand ended into rock, and then it went up steeply into a cliff, with the forest starting a little way back.

But the on the other side, he found more foliage, and he ploughed on through, to the sound of trickling water. And he was both surprised and delighted to find a hot spring there, bubbling from the ground, in a little dip of rock. Like a ready-made bath; and there were more... about six hot springs. A source of hygiene and fresh water to drink. So this is where Elizabeth got her buckets of drinkable water! Beckett wandered over to a spring and dipped his hand in – and was nearly scalded.

Quickly withdrawing his hand, he walked around the first oval-shaped spring, and at the other side he noticed the hot water falling down to the ground – and realized that the hot springs all had water cascading from them, leading in little rivulets to the sea. The water was a little cooler once it had gone around the rocky, oval-shaped gap and was falling down to the ground.

Cutler Beckett cupped his hands underneath the miniature water-fall, and after filling it with water, took a drink. Still warm, but lovely all the same. He ran a finger over his face, thinking about the dirt, sweat and sunburn that now streaked his once-fine features.

And felt it was about time for a bath.

----------

It was after much scrubbing, splashing, and... uh, singing that Beckett came back out of the springs, dried himself with his jacket and got back into the rest of his clothes. He felt that it was a shame to have to put all of his tattered, grimy clothing on – he'd just gotten clean, and now he was climbing into filthy clothes yet again... but he didn't have time to wash them.

Well, time wasn't really a problem – it was more like he had nothing to wear while he washed them and while they dried. He could put them on wet, he supposed, but the dampness may last a couple of days... and he did not like the sound of nighttime in wet clothing. Thought hot during the day, the nights fell fast – and they were cold.

Beckett felt much fresher now, though. He'd always liked to stay clean; a week and a half was, well, quite a while to go without a bath by Beckett's standards – though with pirates, well, a decade and a half could easily pass.

----------

Elizabeth bolted the door, drew the makeshift curtains, and then pulled off her top and the garment which preceded the invention of the bra... not quite a corset, made of softer fabric, but still rather constraining. She sat down on the bed, her hands on her stomach – the pain had dulled and eventually left, but she was still worried. She must be pregnant, well, she was pretty sure she was.

Her breasts felt sore, and they seemed to be swollen – hence the tightening of her underwear, she guessed. She'd have to wear it looser. She couldn't believe the change in breast size had happened within a couple of days; and that signs were already showing. Sort of. Not many, and she still felt fine... but it had been a week and a half, and her body was changing.

She'd had a moment of panic when she'd found that she had been bleeding... like a period, but lighter. But she remembered being told it was normal during pregnancy in her 'birds-and-bees' conversation when she was young, as well as a few lessons afterwards; though the subject was usually carefully skirted. She could really do with a midwife to help explain all of these things to her...

Stupid Beckett! She needed to go back to land, get food, and perhaps as someone with medical knowledge about it all. But now she'd have to take him with her, and worry about him trying to get away. She sighed, and put on a shirt without putting her garment back on... what was the point?

----------

Beckett was walking back upwards through the forest, feeling pleased with himself, damp jacket slung over his shoulder, his hair still dripping slightly onto his shoulders. He was clean, oh yes, cleany cleany clean! He felt surprisingly good about that one little fact... as he rounded a patch of trees, he nearly walked straight into Elizabeth.

"Hello, Miss Swann!" He said brightly, his mood showing clearly. She gave him an odd look.

"Beckett," She said in an almost polite way, with a small nod. She looked a bit worried... well, he was getting all around the island now, she probably preferred him to stay where she could keep an eye on him.

"Are you feeling better now?" He asked her, for the sake of it. He'd started feeling like some sort of bodyguard/father figure recently, which was _plain wrong_, but if anything was to happen to her, bang went his only ticket out of this place. So he had to keep her safe.

"No," She muttered, but then changed her voice, "Beckett, I need to get back to land... do you... can you row on that shoulder?" She sounded like she loathed to part with the information that she rowed back to land. Aha! She was in possession of a boat, then! This day just got better and better.

"I don't know," He began, uncertainly. His shoulder still bled sometimes, though he'd given it a good wash in the hot springs. And then he realized this could be his escape from the island... so he began nodding. "Yes," He said, "Yes, of course I can row on this shoulder."

It couldn't be that hard, right?

* * *

**NB:** It just shows my amazing writing skill when I start a sentence with, "The plateau was pretty boring..." and then went on into a four-paragraph description of it. Uhhh. Hope you had fun, anyway! Beckett's just gotten himself into more trouble then he thought...

**Addition** - some people might say that it's a bit early for cramp to start coming. It's up to nearly three weeks now, because days have passed and... well, etc. Also, Elizabeth's going to be one of those unlucky people feeling almost all of the pregnancy pains, because I feel like it and it'll confuse Beckett more.

Next update contains rowing, rowing, rowing, rowing... Peer pressure peaks in prospective petty theft for Beckett, who's presently picked on and tied to pub pipe! (ack!) (and there's a scared barmaid too...)


	13. Mainland Jamaica

THIRTEEN: Mainland Jamaica

So, two days later – off they went! Elizabeth made sure to drag the boat from it's hiding place nice and early, so Beckett still wouldn't know of it's whereabouts. She brought out the pouch of money she'd taken from the safe in her home – and then realized that she didn't quite need that much, and settled for taking just a little bit of it. She woke Beckett in a way that he felt was rather rude – but a kick in the side was all that he deserved, right?

And now Beckett was rowing; and covering up his winces and trying to appear eager. Elizabeth could easily see through his flimsy acting this time... covering up physical pain wasn't as easy as it seemed. Only a long, long, long, _long_ way to go. Hooray.

"We going to Port Royale?" Beckett asked in a strained voice – Elizabeth noticed that he hadn't even bothered to speak in his usual grammatically correct way; _it's_ are_ we going to Port Royale, actually, _she wanted to say, but restrained herself.

"I think we'll just go to the nearest port," Elizabeth said, for once not feeling like drawing out Beckett's pain. She was going to have to keep a _very_ close eye on him – the thing was, if she did that, he could do the same; and she was pretty sure that he wouldn't be incredibly happy with her purchasing enough bullets to arm an entire firing squad.

"Good, good," Beckett muttered. Elizabeth looked down at her compass, keeping a close eye on it – and it reminded her of, of course, Jack Sparrow. She shook herself off; he wouldn't come to visit her, would he? No, of course not.

Of course not.

----------

Beckett wasn't in a very good mood. An hour of rowing so far, and his bullet wound was screaming (well, not literally), and it had started to bleed again. Elizabeth didn't seem to notice; she was too busy looking nauseous. Beckett didn't want to ask.

"Why can't you row again?" Beckett suddenly demanded. It had completely slipped his mind! _Why_ was he the one rowing?!

"I can't over-exert myself," Elizabeth said truthfully.

"What?! I'm tearing my shoulder apart because of your apathy?!" Beckett exclaimed, stopping in his rowing for a minute to glare at her. "That's... that's just horrible! It's bad enough that you shot me, you know..."

"Am I ever going to hear the end of this, Beckett?" Elizabeth sighed, but she laughed a little too, which made Beckett frown. "I shot you in the shoulder. I'm sorry. Alright?"

"I..." It was the first time Elizabeth had apologized; and she wasn't _meant_ to apologize, so he could keep on being mad at her. What a cow. "Alright..."

"Good," Elizabeth said with a bright smile at him. He managed a smile at her too, though he was a little wary. She'd been in a foul mood this morning, stamping around, _kicking him_, telling him to hurry up irritably every few seconds. He just decided to put it down to her being a woman, and therefore unable to control her emotions.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth started moving about a lot. She shifted to the left, sighing loudly. She shifted right. She crossed her legs, and then put them underneath her. She started chewing on a nail, and swapping position every few minutes. Beckett watched her for a while as he rowed, before finally speaking.

"Are you alright, Miss Swann?" He asked her.

"I'm fine," She snapped, folding her arms, and shuffling to the side slightly.

"I... right..." Beckett was puzzled at the sudden cold tone in her voice, but decided not to mention it. He tried a smile at her – she frowned at him and went back to staring at the horizon, and then she folded her legs again, the other way. Beckett did another row; his energy lying low, he'd started taking long, leisurely strokes, when Elizabeth piped up again.

"Hurry up, Beckett," She said.

"Well, I'm going as fast as I-" He began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Hurry!" She hissed, "You can row faster then _that_, you feeble... weakling!" She moved to the left again, glaring at him. Beckett began pulling faster, resisting the urge to ask if they were there yet. He was going backwards – as you do when you're rowing, and couldn't see if any land had come into sight yet.

About half an hour later, he couldn't help himself.

"Are we nearly there yet?" He asked her. She nodded behind him, and he turned to look – and there it was. Mainland Jamaica. Yesssss!

----------

Problem time. Elizabeth had noticed that, just recently, she'd had to pay a lot of visits to the bathroom. In fact, to her, it seemed that she needed to take a wee every few minutes. Especially as there was no 'bathroom' on the island... enough said. There was one small, tumbledown outhouse, which was just disgusting. She'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime, but it was better then in the bushes.

And about halfway there, the familiar feeling had taken her again. And though she ordered Beckett urgently, he didn't generally put much heart into his rowing – so when they finally arrived at mainland Jamaica, she was ready to run to the nearest inn and dive into the little girls room.

The thing was... what to do with Beckett? Well, that was what the rope was for...

----------

Beckett wasn't too amused. After all, Elizabeth had told the barmaid that he was a convict and to make sure he didn't leave the pub, while she tied him to the counter. Charming. He could easily slip his arm out of the knot, but the barmaid was staring at him from the other side of the counter as if waiting for him to grow wings and fly away out of the window. And she also seemed very frightened.

Finally, Elizabeth showed up, smiling gratefully at the barmaid as she untied Beckett with slightly damp hands. She pulled on his sleeve to come outside now... time to get their supplies.

"Boo," Beckett said, putting both of his hands on the counter and leaning towards the barmaid. She jumped backwards into the wall with rather a lot of force, causing a few bottles to smash to the floor, and Beckett allowed a small smile to come to his lips.

Every cloud _does_ have a silver lining.

----------

"Alright... think this is enough?" Elizabeth asked. They were both weighed down with lots and lots and _lots_ of food – they dumped the sack of provisions into the rowing boat, and then Beckett coughed politely.

"You seem to have your fair share of clothing, Miss Swann," He said, "I think I'd like some too."

"Well, I'm not wasting my money on things for _you_," She said, turning her nose up. Beckett glared at her. "You're going to have to go and nick it yourself." Though she was joking, Beckett looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Alright, then..." He said, "But I'll need you to be the distraction." Elizabeth's first instinct was to decline – but then she thought about Beckett attempting to steal some clothing, and was so amused that she agreed, simply to see him try.

* * *

**NB: **Ohh dear. This is just asking for trouble, eh? Thanks for all of the reviews! I only just realized that I've gotten quite a few! Thank you to my hordes of screaming fans! (snerk)

**Addition** - some people might say that it's a bit early for cramp to start coming. It's up to three weeks-ish now, because days have passed and... well, etc. Also, Elizabeth's going to be one of those unlucky people feeling almost all of the pregnancy pains, because I feel like it and it'll confuse Beckett more.

Next update contains leeching breeches, skirting shirts and kidnapped cravats! Ungainly escape-attempt ends in ugly uncounsciousness and unremarkable uproar! (ack!) (and more rowing, too...)


	14. Sneak

FOURTEEN: Sneak

"Oh! Thief! _Thief_!" The shriek rang out across the streets – and people turned to stare. Elizabeth looked around at them all, and then waved her arms again, "Thief! Help me, someone! _Anyone_?!"

Beckett's advice had been blunt and honest. _If any old person shouted for help, nobody would bat an eyelid, would they? I expect robbery happens around here all of the time. But you're a young woman, just shake your breasts around and look pretty. They all come running then._ Elizabeth had blushed furiously, and Beckett had just shrugged. It was true.

Gosh, Elizabeth had never known Beckett had this side to him! He was like... like a _stealing machine_! He had all of these sly little ploys, and had already gathered up a pile of clothing. He'd taken things from washing lines on second story windows by incredibly illegal means – jumping on top of carts and clambering up low roofs? Honestly! He'd found men unconscious on pub floors, and taken them to the sty and stripped them to their underwear – but no further then that. Ugh.

And his biggest stunt was when he went to a brothel, pretending to be in need of it's, uh, 'services' – Elizabeth had nearly gagged at this point – and then he'd knocked the poor girl assigned to him out, and snuck through the brothel collecting clothing that men had discarded as they were... serviced. They were too busy to notice, and it would be too late when they did...

"Beckett," Elizabeth had hissed at his newest scheme, "We have an entire pile of clothes!" Though she had to stop herself from laughing. Beckett seemed so... alive. But she had to keep a close eye on him, she knew. Escape wouldn't be far from his mind; it was a good thing she'd decided to stand by the back exit of the brothel, because a creeping Beckett had run into her. He'd tried to look innocent, but he had made a fair attempt of escape attempts in their time here.

But she was on to his tricks.

"I need more then _this_," Beckett said, wrinkling his nose, and gesturing to the pile, "This is meagre, and take a look at those breeches, I mean... why are we even keeping those? And look, that shirt has a _stain_ on it..." Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Fine," She'd said, "Fine, alright. But I'm only doing this _once_." And so she had ended up shouting thief in the middle of a busy road, and everyone's heads turned towards her...

Beckett had had his eye on this young man for quite some time. Reading from a scroll of parchment importantly as he walked, his hair tied up in a silky black ribbon, he was dressed in fine silks and ruffles – and these people did not usually grace the cobblestone roads with their feet, but took carriages instead. And this man was about to find out why.

Everyone was distracted as Beckett came from nowhere and thwacked the back of the man's head with one buckle shoe. The man collapsed to the ground, and Beckett dragged him off. Elizabeth almost laughed, but stayed in her role.

"He went that way! Oh! Oh, help me, someone!" She cried, acting out the hysterics of a lady in need rather well. Finally, she took a deep gasping breath, letting the world get a load of the crack of her bosom – which, annoyingly, worked. Immediately men began running down the road blindly, and then mistaking each other for thieves running off, there was rather a lot of scrabbling and shouting.

Elizabeth slipped away to the boat.

----------

"You realize that we are never going to be welcome here again... ever?" Elizabeth asked, as Beckett strode into view, fine clothes slung over one arm. He shrugged one shoulder and dumped it in the rowing boat – which was already rather low in the water.

"Ladies first," He said, sweetly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Beckett. You are rowing again. Get in." Elizabeth ordered, and Beckett sighed and clambered into the boat, sitting down heavily at the front and grabbing the oars, glaring at them as if he hated them with a passion. Elizabeth settled herself down in the back, facing Beckett.

"Oh, _wait_, I think I _forgot_ something..." Beckett said, and stood up, making the entire boat slide a little to the side.

"Beckett!" Elizabeth hissed, clutching hold of the side of the boat. Beckett turned, and made to skip onto the side. And Elizabeth realized that this was one of the most obvious escape plans in the world, and she was falling for it. She jumped to her feet too, making the boat sway again.

"Whoops... oh dear," Beckett said, putting his weight to one side – the boat began to tip to the side, and some seawater splashed over the edge.

"_Beckett_!" Elizabeth was shrieking now. Beckett made to step onto the side – Elizabeth took a step forwards – a wave hit the rowing boat – an oar nearly slipped over the side – Elizabeth made a grab for Beckett – Beckett slipped – and then hit his head on the side of the pier.

Out cold.

----------

"It's about time you woke up!" The sharp voice cut into Beckett's consciousness, making him groan. He didn't want to wake up – he was sleepy. Head hurt. Night night. He felt a prod in the side. "Come on – you're meant to be rowing this thing, not me."

"What?" He asked blearily, opening his eyes. Elizabeth was sitting opposite him, the oars resting loosely on her lap. He glanced around – he was surrounded by ocean. There was mainland Jamaica, disappearing behind them. Damn, damn, damn... nooo! He was meant to escape! Ugh. Looked like he'd have to find another way. Nonchalantly, he slipped a hand into his pocket – yup, the bullet was still there. His emergency bullet.

"Row. Now." Elizabeth stood, and pulled him up too. A spot on the left side of his forehead was telling him harshly to sit back down, but he blundered obediently to his spot on the other side of the boat and sat down, heavily.

Beckett had taken a wee bit of a battering over the last two weeks...

* * *

**NB: **Don't worry, this will not be the last time Beckett makes an escape attempt. There will be many more. Elizabeth doesn't want him gone, because she's pretty sure he'll rat her out to the government and suchlike... oh dear. Beckett is still confused about Elizabeth's mood swings and suchlike; and next chapter, her mood swings take a turn for the worse...

Also, there shalt be no update tomorroweth because I am going camping. Hooray! Though I can rely on rubbish English weather to let me down and soak me and my friends to death. And I'll probably end up curled in the corner of the tent, squashed up, like last time, but oh well! So, yes, sorry for future lateness. The next chapter is one of my favourites; Elizabeth starts feeling a little hot under the collar...

Next update contains wishes, missus, very-near kisses! Misleading moment mounts to mega-madness and much manic desire! (ack!) (and Beckett's just scared...) 


	15. Raging Emotions

FIFTEEN: Raging Emotions

Elizabeth couldn't resist showing Beckett her small mirror – not because it was a nice mirror, but because Beckett had a lump the size of an egg developing on the left of his forehead. Beckett groaned and ran a finger over it, but didn't comment, just slumped back against his tree, having given up on trying coherent thought while this permanent pounding headache was here.

Every evening, Beckett made a small fire – to 'fend off the bears', he said, but Elizabeth would just smirk at him and roll her eyes. It had been another few days, and life was – well, not predictable. Not falling into any sort of pattern. But getting better. Anyway, every evening, Elizabeth would somehow end up sitting at the little campfire, talking idly with Beckett until she caught herself.

Just over three weeks of pregnancy now. About time the hormones flared up...

----------

Beckett had noticed Elizabeth stealing looks at him every few seconds, and frankly, it was scaring him a little. She was sitting to the left of him, and every now and again she would turn and just give him these looks, over and over again. It was just... odd. Usually she was quite off with him, but today, she seemed to be actually listening to him – in fact, she wasn't saying much.

A few times, he'd asked her if she was feeling alright – and a slow smile would come to her face and she'd nod and lick her lips. Really unnerving. It was like she was planning on eating him or something in a second.

Beckett really knows nothing about women.

So, when he noticed her edging towards him the first time, he sort of politely moved up. But then she'd come closer again. And again. He was getting seriously worried by the time they had nearly completed an entire circuit of the campfire – she just kept on moving closer to him! What was wrong with her? What?!

Again, she sort of nonchalantly came closer, until their shoulders were touching, her knee against his, her eyes sliding to him and back to the fire again in those little sly looks. And Beckett would pull a face and 'sort of nonchalantly' move away from her. But it didn't help.

Uh-oh... Beckett was beginning to suspect something here, but he sincerely hoped it was not true...

----------

Love and lust are different things entirely, you have to understand. Some people get it, some people don't. Beckett is one of those people that don't get it. He thinks that love and lust are the same thing, and that if someone is lusting over you they must love you, and vice versa. He's a little old-fashioned that way. But it's not true at all.

True love of the purest sort is when – well, who _can_ explain love? It's just a feeling, that you belong, and when you long for someone's arms to simply hold you and someone's eyes to simply calm you and you rely on them and trust them and would die for them – _kill_ for them.

And then there's lust. Plain old lust – a real devil, a lot of the time. When you just... want them. For not-so-innocent purposes. You don't want just a hug and a smile, you want... you want... well. You want _them_.

And scientists say love is caused by hormones – but most would disagree. But lust? Yes, lust is created by little else. You can be blinded by lust; you can hate someone at the same time as lusting for them. You can find someone disgusting at the same time as lusting for them. Hormones are people blame it on – just hormones.

And Elizabeth had plenty of those to spare at the moment. And one of the side-effects of pregnancy can be... _this_.

----------

She couldn't stop looking at him. She _couldn't stop looking at him_ – literally. She didn't know why; but her imagination was running riot, and it made her face go red and a hot blush creep from her toes to the top of her head.

Elizabeth's logic was gone – her usual feelings were gone. All she wanted at that moment, however wrong, was to jump on Cutler Beckett and drown him in her kisses. She wanted the feel of his skin; the taste of his lips. She wanted to rip his clothes off and... and...

For some reason, all control had left her. He was the only man here. He was the only man she had had any contact with over the last three weeks. She kept on going closer to him, she kept on looking at him, and she kept on blushing every time he looked back at her, no matter how perplexed his face was. Beckett was slowly being cast under the impression that Elizabeth was falling in love with him – modest, modest Mister Beckett couldn't blame her, really – whereas for Elizabeth, it was a feeling that would subside in; well, perhaps a few hours.

She didn't even notice him moving away; she just kept on getting closer to him. Eventually – tired of moving around, or for whatever reason – Beckett stopped moving, and soon she was pressed up against him. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and his eyes kept on drifting skywards as if he were praying, or avoiding looking at her.

Elizabeth was yearning for the feeling of arms around her – wishing that she had someone to kiss and hug and... make passionate love with, to put it bluntly. Of course, she couldn't have picked a worse person; but, also – well, she couldn't have picked any other person full stop.

So it felt perfectly natural to her when she suddenly turned to him, her hand sliding onto his shoulder – the stars twinkling above them happily, the fire crackling quietly to itself, and she leaned forwards to plant a passionate kiss on his lips and end the desire that was filling her up. Though an odd thing happened; something that had never happened before. As she leaned forwards, Beckett leaned backwards – so much that he ended up at a ridiculous angle, and it was a surprise he didn't fall over backwards.

There was a pause, Elizabeth's pucker disappearing, Beckett's expression turning into something that could only be described as a cross between 'horror-struck' and 'scared out of his mind', and it left them both leaning violently to the side, Elizabeth bearing down on Beckett, and Beckett leaning backwards further and into a shape that only a professional gymnast should attempt.

And... the pause stretched out. Elizabeth was staring at Beckett in a mixture of embarrassment, horror and disbelief. Never in her life had Elizabeth been rejected by a man before – and she'd been juggling three of them at one point in her life. Beckett, meanwhile, looked simply aghast, shocked and even a little scared – he hurriedly closed his mouth.

The shock of what she had just done finally hitting her, Elizabeth leapt to her feet, her hands coming to her mouth in shock. The force with which she bounced backwards finally made Beckett fall over backwards with a thud and a cloud of dust, and he looked at her from the ground, a questioning look also sort of sliding onto his face.

Elizabeth was absolutely speechless. Beckett must think of her as a complete and utter idiot... was this some sort of nightmarish fantasy? No, it wasn't... Elizabeth wanted to die. What must he think of her? Oh, god no...

She ran back into her home, rammed the bolt shut, and leapt onto her bed, close to tears. Why?

----------

Beckett was a little shell-shocked as he sat himself back up, a twig sticking up in his hair. Had Elizabeth just... gone to kiss him? His thoughts weren't coming so smoothly at the moment – perhaps his brain had exploded. He tapped himself on the head, just in case... but the only thought still coming was '_uhhh?!_', which wasn't too helpful.

Okay. Okay. Elizabeth Swann was in love with him. So... he could use this to his advantage, couldn't he? Oh, he shouldn't have rejected her, now that a plan was coming to mind! Earn her trust, pretend to love her back, and then – get off of the island! Cue manic laughter! Bwahahahaaah!

_Right, even for _me_, that thought was a bit insane_, Beckett thought, massaging his temple. _But I'm right – I can use this to my advantage! Elizabeth loves me – well, it's not like I never saw this coming – so I can pretend to love her back and... hah. Bye-bye island. Forever._ Smiling, Beckett allowed himself to flop back onto his back where he'd been before.

Elizabeth lovey-love-_lurved_ him. Ha!

* * *

**NB: **Oh deary me. Well, good luck to Beckett - seducing Elizabeth will defenitely not be a laugh and a half for him... Thank you all for the reviews! Camping was fantabulous. 

Next update contains mishaps, slaps, flapping traps! Gal guiltily admits gruesome genuinality, gerbil-guy gets ghastly gist! (ack!) (and more jumping to conclusions too...)


	16. A Confession

SIXTEEN: A Confession...

Elizabeth blinked a few times, and then stretched. Touching her face, she realized that she'd fallen asleep with tears brimming in her eyes – and now, remembering the events of last night, they nearly began to pour again. Why? Beckett must think... he must think...

Another thought struck her; Will! Her lovely, lovely Will! In one stupid, single moment she'd almost thrown it all away! And what made it even worse was that she hadn't, for one tiny second, even considered thinking about him... oh god, oh god, what sort of a wife was _she_? She couldn't even stay faithful for three weeks!

Even though she'd just slept, she still felt sleepy. Damn this pregnancy... damn it to hell! She cradled her still-flat stomach, blinking back tears – and now she couldn't seem to stop crying over the slightest thing either! Soon, the very thought of all of the times she had eaten innocent chickens would make her eyes brim with tears! Taking a deep breath, she stood up, and crept to the window, twitching the curtain to the side and glancing out. There was Beckett, sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking into the now-dead fire. What did she _ever_ see in him?! His smug smile and suave looks, they made her feel sick... and then he glanced up, and their eyes met.

In a panicked rush, Elizabeth drew the curtains, breathing deeply. How could she ever face him again?

----------

Beckett grinned to himself as Elizabeth's anxious face suddenly vanished from the window, and the raggedy curtains were pulled closed quickly. Ahh, she couldn't resist looking at him, could she? He looked up at the blue sky – and felt that today was going to be a good day.

He had _no idea_.

----------

It was a few hours later that Elizabeth came out of the house, as quietly as she could, but the door thunked closed and Beckett got to his feet quickly, smiling at her. Elizabeth looked nervous, and also a little frustrated. After glancing around himself, Beckett sidled up to her, and kept the smile on his face.

"Are you here to make fun of me?" Elizabeth asked in a resigned voice.

"Of course not, Elizabeth," He said, keeping the smile on his face as best as he could. Elizabeth stared at him; probably shocked that he'd called her Elizabeth. Well, he had to start getting closer, didn't he? If his plan was going to work... he took a deep breath, knowing that this had to be done. It wasn't going to be particularly nice for him, but – well, it was what Elizabeth thought that counted, really.

Giving her the most lovey-dovey look he could, he leaned forwards, gently took her hand in his, and went to kiss her... and received a hard smack in the face.

"Oh, sod off, you insensitive bastard!" Elizabeth howled at him, before turning and storming off down the pathway through the forest. The slap had sent him flying backwards into a tree, and his shoulder immediately jarred with pain. He blinked a few times, trying to regain his composure, and then watched her stamping off down the path, feeling confused.

How was he meant to seduce Elizabeth Swann under these conditions?!

----------

She wanted to cry. Really, she did. Beckett was making fun of her! Again! His over-exaggerated smushy-adoring face, the way he carefully held her hand like he was about to start serenading her – even _Beckett_ could make fun of her now. _Beckett_! Why had she leaned in to kiss him? Why? Why?! She _loathed_ the man...

Folding her arms, she sat down heavily on the beach, her eyes closed. She could remember the feeling so clearly; the way she had _longed_ for him, in a way that was almost... animalistic. And now she shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had Beckett not had the sense to lean back. If he'd just accepted her kiss and then let it develop into...

Oh, she didn't even want to _think_ about it.

Feeling tears beginning to well up again – damn this pregnancy! – she pushed her hand into the sand, picked up a handful, and then let it sprinkle back to the ground. She did this over and over again, for no real reason, her eyes on the sea. Then she heard footsteps on the sand behind her. _Oh no..._

"Elizabeth?" Came a cautious-sounding voice – Beckett sounded like he was afraid she'd bite his head off again. She sighed.

"What do you want, Beckett?" She asked as haughtily as she could, quickly brushing tears from her cheeks. Ugh! Beckett came forwards, and then sat down on the sand next to her. She turned away from him, staring at the ground.

"Do you think... that we should... talk about...?" His words were coming out slowly, as if he wasn't sure whether he should be saying them or not.

"Beckett!" Elizabeth got to her feet again, "Please, will you stop bothering me?" Beckett looked up from the ground, pulling a hurt look onto his face. Elizabeth looked down at him, and then sighed. "What happened last night was... it was a... _nothing_, alright? A terrible mistake!" She looked at him helplessly for a moment, not able to find the right words to describe what was happening inside her. She wasn't sure whether to tell him of her pregnancy, even now...

----------

_Sure, sure it was,_ Beckett thought, _I can tell you can't resist me. I mean, look at how you're looking at me now – you can't bear to look away. Hmm!_ He just kept on looking hurt, though, and then nodded. She looked at him, helplessly, looking a little guilty – Beckett always was a good actor.

"Elizabeth, don't you think that-?" Before he could finish, Elizabeth shook her head profusely, her eyes wild, and began to walk off up the beach. Beckett blinked at her – and she turned around, continuing to walk backwards.

"I'm sorry, alright, Beckett? I'll explain everything – _everything_ – later," She said. She was talking, of course, about her mood swings and probable pregnancy; but Beckett, of course, took it entirely wrong. As she walked away up the beach, he looked out to sea, a little bit worried.

But the show must go on.

----------

"Elizabeth," He smiled at her. Elizabeth glared at him – why did he keep _smiling_ at her like that?! He looked like an overgrown gerbil! It was actually a rather scary smile! She stared at his white teeth for a minute, wondering if he really imagined that the smile he was giving her made her feel hopeful. Because it _didn't_.

"Beckett," She said, warily. She was sitting in the forest, against a tree, a place where she thought she could stay hidden from him. But he'd hunted her out like some sort of... _hunter_. And now he came and sat next to her.

"How... are... you?" He asked. She gave him an odd look – he said the words uncertainly, as if they were alien to him; imagine that, Cutler Beckett struggling with a single friendly greeting that was said by millions every day all over the world, when he had millions of long and complicated words at his disposal. It just went to show how little human company this man had gone through his life with. He'd never had time for friends, it seemed.

"I feel terrible," Elizabeth said, resting her chin on her hands – her elbows were on her knees, which were drawn up.

"Why?" He asked. He sounded surprisingly compassionate, like he _actually_ cared; and Elizabeth felt a little bad about everything. The nearly-kiss, the shouting, the hating and lusting and... well, everything. How could Beckett possibly understand her when he had no idea what was happening?

Maybe it was time she told him. Coughing nervously, she looked into his eyes.

"Beckett, I... have something to tell you... a... confession to make..." She said, with a slight blush, looking downwards. She wasn't sure how much about pregnancy Beckett knew – possibly very little. "It might be... you know... embarrassing..."

----------

_Alright, here we go_, Beckett thought as Elizabeth stammered through the last few sentences. A _confession_ to make, eh? _Embarrassing_, was it? Hmm! Well, he already knew where _this_ was going. Or so he thought.

"It's alright," Beckett said, pulling an understanding and warm smile to his face, "I understand." Elizabeth looked to him – looking surprised for a second. And then she looked weary.

"No... no, Beckett, I don't think you do," She sighed.

"I do," He insisted, like it was some sort of competition, and he looked at her. She rolled her eyes as if he were a complete idiot, and he had a tiny little doubt about whether he was right – but decided to squash it. Cold feet. He looked directly into her honey-brown eyes, and then leaned forwards, their faces coming closer...

"No, you don't," She said in an exasperated voice, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. He was annoyed, but didn't say anything, "You're an idiot, Beckett,"

"But you..." He started, and was – what he felt – rudely cut off again.

"Beckett. Please. Listen to me for just one second." She put her hand on his shoulder, gingerly, as if afraid to catch an infection off of him, and then forced herself to look into blue-green eyes. They were an odd colour. "It's not easy to explain but... it's just... I'm pregnant."

For a moment, Beckett could do nothing but sit there, staring at her as if she were completely mad. His world seemed to be sort of falling... and he spoke again, this time in a slow, far-away sort of voice.

"Do you know how... pregnancy happens, Elizabeth?" He asked, cautiously.

"Yes, I do," She rolled her eyes.

"And... you know that... babies _aren't_ just found under a gooseberry bush, after all...?" He was aware that he was talking to her like she was mentally handicapped, but he pressed on anyway. She _must_ be kidding – or possibly deluded. She _had_ been acting a little strange lately.

"Beckett, I _know_ where babies are from. And you know too. And I really, really am pregnant." Elizabeth said, sounding a little annoyed. Beckett stared at her, completely failing to see how Elizabeth had become pregnant on an island containing only her and him. Because that was just... well. They needed to, you know, _do_ something first.

Then, a horrible thought struck him. What about that night when they'd been climbing the mountain, and he'd gotten completely drunk – out of his head? His memory was hazy that night. In fact, he couldn't remember getting to sleep... oh god. No, wait. He... he _hadn't_...

But there was no other explanation for it, was there? And Elizabeth had been oddly fixated on talking about love for the rest of that day. Maybe that was why she looked so shocked when he rejected her! Because they'd kissed before, and she thought he remembered! And she was off with him because she thought he... wait... No. This couldn't be happening. He stared at her for a moment.

"Oh my _god_!" He screamed, putting his hands to his head.

* * *

**NB: **Beckett jumps the gun a little yet again... he's a little trigger-happy with the misunderstandings, isn't he? And I appear to have become very trigger-happy with the metaphors about guns. And when I said camping was fantabulous, I was deranged, because now I am sore all over from the eighteen-mile hike. Aaargh. 

Next update contains sound pollution, confusion, no absolution! Embarrassing encounter ends with Elizabeth engrossed in association with a certain Englishman! (ack!) (and she walks in on bathtime too...)


	17. Beckett's Baby

SEVENTEEN: Beckett's Baby

"I need to – you know – just – _go_ – that way – somewhere..." Beckett leapt to his feet, backing away from her like he was afraid she'd bite him, "I'll be back – soon – later – sometime... sorry... I can't..." He shot her a scared look, and then vanished through the trees.

Elizabeth blinked.

Well, he seemed to be concerned for her welfare or something, which she hadn't been expecting. She'd thought that he'd shrug and say, '_so?_' But it seems he did care after all, which was nice. Perhaps he was a good man... or... maybe he loved her? She was starting to suspect it – the time he'd leaned in to kiss her just a few seconds ago and she'd pushed him away; it didn't seem like he'd been acting.

Hmm! This was very interesting indeed! Perhaps the ice queen – err, king – Beckett himself had an itsy bitsy crush on her? Ooh, maybe that was why he'd been acting so awkward just lately, with his big gerbil smiles and sly looks.

Yes. Yes, it was the _only_ explanation.

----------

Pregnant. _Pregnant_. She was pregnant! How could this happen to him? What had he _done_?! Oh, why did bad things happen to good people? It was always the _innocents_ that got the worst deal in life...! Beckett had pushed on blindly through the forest, and now he was pacing around a small clearing, biting on a nail like he had not done since he was a young child.

Elizabeth was going to give birth to a baby – he didn't know how long the baby was inside a woman; he didn't have much experience. A month or so, he expected. Anyway, in that amount of time, a real-life little person was going to come into the world! Illegitimate and... and... oh! It was too terrible to even _begin_ to describe! His life was over! Finished!

Now Elizabeth would follow him around forever nagging at him to teach their child something useful and she'd think he loved her and he'd have to stay with her forever and... no, don't be stupid.

Ohh... Beckett had never wanted a child! Well, that wasn't strictly true, he thought to himself. He'd always liked the thought of a miniature-him, an heir to pass on all of his wisdom and money... not that he had any, now. He was wearing the cast-offs of some peasant at that very moment, after all. But still; he'd thought a child – a son – would be good. It was just the having to find a wife part he didn't like the sound of.

Don't get him wrong – Beckett liked women; he wasn't completely oblivious to the effect they could have on men and all. But he didn't really care that much for them either. He'd observed his mother; and he had the impression that they were fashion-obsessed backstabbers whose only joys in life was wasting another sackful of money on some shiny dress and necklace.

Shallow, stupid, and always sporting garish makeup and the 'latest thing' – oh, how he had come to despise his mother and her gaggle of friends; the earliest socialites. The only thing that made her eyes light up was money and diamonds; she usually could hardly remember his own _name_.

Then again, Elizabeth wasn't like that. She seemed to be – though he loathed admitting it – bright. Intelligent. Clever enough to keep him amused, at any rate. But the thought of harbouring any sort of romantic relationship with her almost made him feel physically sick. It was just revolting... not right. Though Elizabeth _obviously_ disagreed. Otherwise she wouldn't have gotten him drunk and...

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh! He was suddenly filled up with the desire to get clean – as if he was filthy all over. He felt defiled. Tainted. He turned, and began making his way to the hot springs, dully.

----------

Elizabeth walked into the clearing... and immediately wished she hadn't. She could tell immediately that something was wrong here; and she realized that someone was in the springs. And there was only one other person on the island. She looked down, and noted a neat pile of clothing on the floor. She looked up – and saw Beckett staring at her from a spring, his arms resting on the side facing her.

"Yes?" He asked her, patiently. Elizabeth felt herself beginning to blush.

"Nothing... I didn't know you were here," Elizabeth said, looking away from him, and then back towards him. Nothing was... _exposed_ or anything. Dark blonde hair was plastered to his head, giving off the impression that he was much younger then he actually was. He looked like a young boy, with a light fringe almost covering his eyes, water dripping from one strand onto his nose.

His arms were folded on the stone at the edge, and his chin was only a few inches above it – but those few inches showed a rather pale chest, with droplets of water on it – though Elizabeth made sure to keep her eyes firmly away from this spot. Some water stuck his dark eyelashes together – and she noticed suddenly that he was clean-shaven. It had been weeks. Surely he'd have a beard by now? Well, he had had a small one; but now it was gone.

But she decided she'd ask later. She turned, and left the hot springs, clambering through the foliage.

"Try to resist peeking when I get out," Beckett drawled from behind her, and she could just imagine the smirk on his face. She left the clearing, wondering how it was that she was far more embarrassed then Beckett, when _he'd_ been the one caught naked. Well, not quite; he'd been covered, but...

Huh. Beckett just didn't _lose_ his composure.

----------

As soon as Elizabeth was gone, Beckett went straight back into gibbering-wreck mode. Oh god! What had he done? What had he _done_?!

----------

Elizabeth noticed that over the next few days, Beckett crept around her like a church mouse, talking very little, and rather quietly when he did. And she could see him watching her curiously, as if waiting for her to perform some sort of magic-trick. Finally, she could take it no more – her hormones were going in a downward sweep that day.

"Beckett!" She snapped, "Will you stop your gawping?! The baby is _not_ about to come _bursting out of my ear_!" Beckett looked a little bit taken aback.

"I'm not... _gawping_..." He muttered quietly. She stared at him, wondering what was wrong with him. His sneering comments had slowly begun lessening, until there was none left at all. And then he spent his days just watching her meekly, as if worried that she'd explode.

Well. She hadn't exactly been... _nice_ to him over the last few days. She found herself sleeping almost all of the time; and the times when she wasn't sleeping, her moods were either skyrocketing or hitting rock bottom. But still, it wasn't like him to be so quiet. She put her hands on her hips, and frowned at him.

"What's wrong with you?" She demanded. He looked startled, like a boy who hadn't been paying attention in class being picked on by his teacher. "You haven't been acting yourself recently."

"Well... it's big news... a baby..." He said, carefully, like he was afraid of answering wrongly.

"Not for _you_," Elizabeth said, "_I'm_ the one having to pop out the little thing here!"

"_Not for me_?" Beckett gave her an odd look, "Of course it's big news for me too! I mean, it's... it's..." He stared at her for a second, and then shook his head, as if he simply couldn't go on.

"I never thought you'd care so much, Beckett," Elizabeth said, looking down at her stomach. "I mean, you've never exactly been a friend..." Beckett was still staring at her, and Elizabeth frowned. What was up with him? He shook his head again, and tried a smile.

"Well... it's my job to... help you... isn't it?" He asked, cautiously.

"Not if you don't want to," Elizabeth said with a shrug, but she felt herself softening for him. She'd never thought he'd act so kindly – though he seemed very nervous about doing so. He blinked.

"Really?" He asked. Elizabeth was a little put out by this... so he _didn't_ want to help her after all? What was wrong with him? "But I thought... because... it wasn't meant to happen..."

"What do you mean, it _wasn't meant to happen_?!" Elizabeth argued. "We planned for this baby, you know!"

"...we did?" Beckett asked, nervously.

"_Me and Will_!" Elizabeth said impatiently.

"You and Will planned for our baby?"

"_Our baby?!_"

"Uh..."

"This is_ not _our_ baby!_" Elizabeth shrieked.

* * *

**NB: **This may not end so well. Thank you all for reviews! Questions, suggestions, all are accepted! 

Next update contains revelations, elations, action stations! Convulse-worthy conversation creates cargo of complete crap! (ack!) (and some unexpected visitors to the island...)


	18. Visitors

EIGHTEEN: Visitors

Elizabeth stared at him as if he were completely and utterly mad, and anger was easily visible on her face, as well as hot embarrassment. Beckett blinked, struggling to take this in. So many life-changing conversations in so little time...

"_How_ could you even _think_ that?!" Elizabeth demanded, putting a hand to her forehead.

"I thought... on the mountain... and you kept on... with the kiss... it's..." Beckett was utterly confused now. He stared at her as if she were crazy. "If it's not our baby... I fail to see how you got pregnant on your own..."

"I got pregnant before you got here, you imbecile!" Elizabeth was staring at him now, "Do you know what we would have had to _do_ to _get_ me pregnant?!"

"That's what I was afraid of..." Beckett said with a flinch, "I thought... on the mountain... when I was drunk... when you _got me_ drunk..." He shook his head, "If you got pregnant before, wouldn't you be... bigger?" He looked at her stomach, and Elizabeth immediately covered it up, feeling self-conscious.

"Pregnancy takes months and months... you're so brainless! I can't believe you even... that you..." As she spoke, Beckett suddenly felt another feeling flooding into him, like a delayed reaction. It filled him up...

...Relief!

"It's not my baby! Fantastic!" He said, joyfully, interrupting her. Elizabeth looked a little put out, as if she were thinking, _okay – don't sound _too_ happy about it, then_. "You cannot _believe_ how... _scared_ I was! I am so, so, so, so, so, _so_ glad!" A huge grin came across his face, and he just regarded her for a happy moment, before regaining himself.

"I can't believe that you thought... that's..." Elizabeth shook her head, looking defeated – she sighed, what Beckett suspected was sadly.

"So, who are you pregnant with, then?" He asked her. Elizabeth blinked at him.

"Will Turner," She said.

"Will Turner?" Beckett wrinkled his nose, "I still have no idea what you see in _him_... Unless he just tricked and defiled you... I wouldn't be _that_ surprised..."

"Me and Will Turner are _married_! No thanks to _you_!" Elizabeth snapped, anger bubbling up.

"You mean... you... you're not Miss Swann after all? You're _Mrs Turner_?" Beckett put a lot of emphasis on her new name, and even to Elizabeth it sounded sort of... old. Like an old baker's wife's name – it didn't have the same, graceful ring to it as Elizabeth Swann. Miss Swann. Maybe that's why she'd... forgotten to correct him.

"Yes, I do mean that, Beckett," She said, adjusting her dress with as much dignity as she could muster, "But since you've started calling me Elizabeth now, as I asked, it doesn't make much difference."

Beckett made a mental note to call her Mrs Turner simply to annoy her.

"You still call me Beckett," He pointed out.

"So you'd prefer _Cutler_, then? I don't expect you've had someone call you by your first name for a _long_ time..." Elizabeth sneered, her comment an obvious jab at his lack of companionship. Though he tried not to let it show, it stung him a little.

"I... call me what you will," He said, coldly, instead.

----------

Elizabeth hadn't meant to say something quite so... mean. For a split second, Beckett shot her the most wounded look – but then he quickly smoothed over it, and shrugged it off. Elizabeth knew that she was far too proud to apologize, especially to _him_. But she did feel bad.

"Right. Well I'm glad _that's_ sorted." Elizabeth said, folding her arms and looking downwards. Beckett coughed, and looked slightly embarrassed.

"What a horrible misunderstanding _that_ was," He commented. Elizabeth tried to choke back a laugh, and failed. At her laugh, Beckett smiled warmly at her, and Elizabeth cautiously smiled back.

_I'm onto you,_ she thought.

----------

Beckett felt his own smile strengthening as he managed to coax a smile out of her. He raised an eyebrow, before turning and walking away. Oh yes – that shy little smile, she wasn't willing to admit it, but he knew exactly what she was thinking.

_I'm onto you,_ he thought.

----------

...and this is all heading directly towards a lot of trouble...

----------

Elizabeth sat on the beach, looking out to sea. She felt peaceful that day – tranquil, as if nothing could ruin it. Her situation wasn't so bad... she guessed she and Beckett had never gotten on, but at least she wasn't alone. Her feelings for Beckett were a somewhat bittersweet mix – he was a man that she had despised with every atom of her body, not so long ago. Or was it long ago? How long had it been – four weeks, five weeks now? Something like that.

It seemed a long time. And now she and Beckett were... friends? Friendly, let's leave it at that. And despite the fact that, for the most part, they did little else but argue, misunderstand each other and coyly notice 'signs' in each other when there were none – it was good to have company.

Out of everything, Elizabeth had been dreading the nine-month loneliness the most. She'd decided that – though she would have loved to – she couldn't go pirate-ing off while carrying mini-Will in her stomach. She had to stay put. She was still Pirate King, and it happened that she was just wondering about what had happened to that...

...when she saw a shape on the horizon. A fleet of ships; she recognized them as pirate ships. She scrambled to her feet, staring at them; and soon, flags were raised, as the fleet continued to approach her. The flags of various pirate lords were being hoisted, one by one. The Brethren Court was paying her a visit... which was never a good thing. They did nothing but squabble – just the memory of it made Elizabeth sigh with irritation.

She turned, and began heading back up through the forest and to her shack at a run – there were things she had to do. Make herself presentable, prepare a place for the various members of the Court to sit, and... hide Beckett.

He was down at the springs, right next to the beach.

Oh.

----------

Elizabeth ran back down to the beach, and realized it was too late to go and warn Beckett now; several small rowing boats were coming to the island. She scanned the faces of the various people in the boats – and realized that not all members of the Brethren Court had arrived in person, but sent servants instead. Typical... still, at least their followers were more likely to listen to her. She was guiltily disappointed to realize that Jack Sparrow wasn't one of the Pirate Lords arriving.

_We're just friends_, she thought miserably, damning her hormones. Casting an anxious look in the direction of the springs where Beckett was, she stepped forwards to the sea to greet the Brethren Court.

* * *

**NB: **Hmm. I guess you can see what just may be coming up. Thanks for reviews! You are all lovely. I know that there are a lot of Beckett-haters out there... I hope this'll help you see another, funnier side to him. One that, for some reason, I've always seen in him.

Oooh, and see the bit below, with the pretty pissant pirate ppppppp... etc? I've added one of those for every single chapter, because I was bored. Take a look through them, and laugh at my pitiful attempt at alliteration.

Next update contains introduction, information, renovation! Pretty pissant pirate-lords present persistent petty primping! (ack!) (and some really badly written French accents too...)


	19. The Brethren Court

NINETEEN: the Brethren Court

"Weikao Dou, here in place of the Pirate Lord, Mistress Ching," The man spoke in a heavy Asian accent, most probably Chinese, and stooped down into a polite bow, examining the rest of the gathering on the beach with a quirked eyebrow.

"Aniruddha Kumara, here in the place of Pirate Lord, Sri Sumbhajee." Now a thick Indian accent, sounding slightly nervous; this man also hurriedly bowed, silk tassels bouncing.

"Tai Huang, captain-in-helping in the South China Sea... Here under you, Pirate King Swann," She recognized the man as he bowed before her; the first time she'd met him, she had disliked him highly – and now he was her second-in-command, as he had been under Sao Feng... the man whose position she now had.

"Géraud Cosme, here in t'ze pla'ace of _Captaine_ Chevalle," This man bowed with a flourish; reminding Elizabeth much of Chevalle himself. His accent, of course, was French – and he appeared to not know very much English.

"Kobin Sizwe, here in 'da place of 'da Gentleman Jocard," The toweringly tall, dark-skinned man did not make to bow.

"Dimas Ramón, here in the place of Captain Villanueva," This man had only a slightly south-European lilt – his English was good, and he made a sweeping bow, graciously. Elizabeth was already beginning to forget all of these names, and every few seconds, she couldn't help but shoot at look towards the hedges – through that thin layer of foliage, Beckett was completely unaware.

She prayed to god that he didn't see fit to sing while he bathed this time.

"Pirate Lord of the Black Sea, Ammand the Corsair," A proud-looking man with a moustache and a silken turban said... the only Pirate Lord to actually arrive – apart from one, that is...

"Captain Hector Barbossa," He said, leaning forwards with a smirk, "Lord of the Caspian Sea. I'm sure you remember me, Miss Swann."

"That is _King Turner_ to you, Barbossa," Elizabeth snapped, stepping away from him. She didn't like Barbossa that much... they did not, as such, share good memories. "And now all of the Brethren Court are assembled," She said with a nod, but then corrected herself, "Well, not _all_ of us..."

"I 'ave always 'eard t'zat Jack _Sparr'ohw_ is a little delinquan'." Geráud the Frenchman said, with spirit. Elizabeth supposed that by 'delinquan' he meant 'delinquent'. She shot him a forceful look.

"And what is this meeting about, pray tell me?" She said, in her bold, I'm-pirate-king-and-don't-you-dare-doubt-it-for-even-one-second-and-by-the-way-you-smell voice, looking as severe as she could. They were all still standing around on the beach... but it was an informal meeting, all in all.

"We are wondering on ord'as from you, King," Kobin said, his voice showing distaste for what he has just said. Elizabeth already didn't like him... he showed defiance with every atom of his being. He had already proved he didn't do pleasantries when he had not bowed, like everyone else had. "If any."

"I..." Elizabeth felt herself faltering a little here. She had been meaning to do this for _so_ long. She had planned it. But... well, you were only Pirate King once in a lifetime. Could she really give it all up? She sighed, and shook herself. "I think I shall hand over my resignation as Pirate King, and pass on the title of Pirate Lord to Tai Huang, my second-in-command." She looked to him, and a pleased look plastered itself over his filth-stained face. He bowed deeply to her.

"Just because we have killed the _despicable_ Cutler Beckett, does not mean that the war is over, no?" Dimas Ramón said, in his rather refined accent. Elizabeth felt a slight twinge of guilt. "We must continue to fight."

"I will always be a friend of the pirates, and hope to always be seen as a friend to you," Elizabeth started, steadily, "But for now, I wish to leave my life as a pirate – I have decided for me that it is time to settle down, and this is the island where you will find me. Please, keep the information safe – and don't give it away to _anyone_, or you will be betraying the Brethren Court... unforgivable."

"We will make sure to keep your location a closely guarded secret... mistress," Tai, the new Pirate Lord of the South China Seas said with another low bow, glaring at the other pirates as if daring them to disagree. They didn't.

"If that is all, you may take your leave now, and..." Elizabeth trailed off, her heart stopping as Beckett stumbled out of the foliage, into blindingly obvious daylight. He blinked. She blinked.

_Uh-oh_...

* * *

**NB: **Whoops. Serious whoops. Hmm, well, surely they can wriggle their way out of this one? Right? Right?! Also, uhh, are the names realistic enough? I am so bad at making them up. And also, the accents are terrible to write... especially that French one... aargh! Also, the race is on for 100th review... heh heh. Only joking.

I never thought this story would get as much interest as it seems to be gathering. I am glad nonetheless.

Next update contains saving face, pace, woodland chase! Beckett beautifully bollocks-up by bashing boats, bemused black bear becomes brutal! (ack!) (and the bear is rather intelligent, too...)


	20. Boats and Bears

TWENTY: Boats and Bears

At her look, a few of the men on the beach began to turn, but Elizabeth immediately tried to catch their attention by speaking – as for the men facing the direction of the foliage, they hadn't seen her facial expression, and she hoped against hope that they wouldn't notice their worst enemy who was meant to be dead wandering out of the forest in the middle of their meeting.

"Men! The East India Trading Company are still at large! We must stop them! Death to the East India Trading Company!" Elizabeth cried, and to her relief, all of the men boomed in reply.

----------

So. One second he and Elizabeth are chatting pleasantly about pregnancy, and he's completely at ease taking a bath, and the next – pirates. Smelly, horrible, _disgusting_ pirates. Well, what a nerve she had! Inviting a rabble of ugly men in rags! Well, actually, these men looked rather finely dressed... _for pirates_. And then he recognized one of them – the Brethren Court!

He sidestepped behind some bushes, but worry had begun to chew on his insides. Had Elizabeth called her men over to exterminate him? Rat out his survival to the pirate scum? Well, what else would she have called them up for? Oh dear. He'd better get out of here.

It was at a run that Beckett took off up through the forest – he just kept going uphill, until he burst out of the other side of the trees, gasping for breath. He sighed, and then looked out across the plateau. He leapt to his tree, and underneath some roots where he had excavated a small hole, pulled out his worldly possessions; a broken pocket-watch, matches, candles... and checked his pocket for the bullet. Check, check, check.

Beckett was about to dart back into the forest; when he thought that he may need some food. So, off he pottered into Elizabeth's home, glancing around the dim room, feeling a touch bad – but mostly indifferent. She didn't _need_ all of this food _all to herself_, did she? Anyway, he only needed some until he found out where the boat was hidden... and _then_ he could escape.

He picked up a few bits and pieces, and then noticed a journal. For a moment he was extremely curious... but then he shook himself off and dashed out of the house. Glancing around, he ran into the forest... and right into Elizabeth.

----------

"Beckett," Elizabeth started, but Beckett had already pushed past her and he was off into the forest like a crazy man. She blinked dumbly, and then began running after him, immediately suspecting that something was wrong. "Beckett?!"

"Oh dear..." Beckett panted to himself, still under the impression that Elizabeth was about to murder him, and get her pirate buddies to give him a good kicking too. But Elizabeth didn't know this... she'd just waved goodbye to the rabble of foreign men, and resisted slapping Barbossa's leering face, and come back to find Beckett running like the wind, blindly through the forest.

"Beckett, what's chasing you?" Elizabeth asked him. He shot her a look over his shoulder.

"Uh – _you_!" He replied, as if it were obvious.

"Beckett, slow down! This isn't funny!" Elizabeth demanded.

"What? So you and your pirate mates can beat me up, eh?" Beckett said. Elizabeth had never known that Beckett could run like this... she'd always thought of him as; well, not fat. In fact, he'd always been rather on the slim side for a bloke. But – well, not physically fit. Though she guessed he must have sailed, at one point...

"Beckett, they're gone! We're not about to murder you!" Elizabeth called after him – they were both panting now, and had slowed down considerably. Elizabeth realized that running wasn't such a good thing for her in her current state; so considered it a good thing when Beckett suddenly tumbled downwards, throwing his arms out and landing with a thud. Elizabeth stopped, and walked up to him.

"Ouch," Beckett said from the floor, and then his eyes widened. "The boat!" He said lowly in amazement, seeing what it was that he'd tripped over.

Elizabeth had cleverly disguised it underneath bits of fern and undergrowth, leaves and grass, but it was still undoubtedly the rowing boat. Beckett's face lit up – and Elizabeth leapt forwards, shaking her head at him.

"No, Beckett. Don't even think about it." She made a mental note to change the hiding place, _immediately_. Beckett, however, knew that she would do this, so grabbed a hold of the boat – this may be his only chance. "Stop!" Elizabeth grabbed the other side, to – she wasn't sure, actually. Just in case he grabbed it, held it above his head, dived into the ocean and rowed away at the speed of sound, she guessed.

"Elizabeth – a bear!" Beckett cried, pointing behind her.

"Beckett, I'm not _that_ d... oh." The last word she said in a low whisper, and her eyes widened, staring behind Beckett. "Beckett... this is really, really, going to sound like a bad joke but... there's a... it's... uhh..." She stared at the bear behind Beckett, sniffing the air, and cocking it's head.

"There's what?" Beckett asked, blinking.

----------

"Beckett..." Elizabeth was whispering now, and she swallowed, still backing away. "There's a bear behind you." She breathed the last bit, so he barely heard it.

"You're right. It _does_ sound like a bad joke." Beckett said, flatly.

"That's what I was afraid of..." Elizabeth murmured. She couldn't take her eyes off of the bear – it wasn't a towering grizzly bear or anything, but it was still a bear; and bears were... dangerous. It stepped on a twig, which snapped loudly – and Beckett seemed to freeze.

"I'm going to turn around now," Beckett said nervously, "And if you're lying... _oh_, if you are lying, you are going to pay for this in unimaginable ways." Elizabeth just stared at him, and then turned and vanished through the bushes at a run. Beckett felt something brushing the small of his back.

He spun around, springing away from the thing. It was the species most commonly known as the Black Bear – quite often found on islands, though generally closer to Canada then Jamaica. It was crouching, so was only about three feet high, but when it rose on it's rear legs – well, it could tower up to perhaps six feet tall, some of them even seven. It's fur was – as the name describes – a glossy black, nearly blue in the light.

It had a creamy patch on it's snout, and a v-shape of the same colour on it's chest. It's rounded ears flattened to it's head slightly, and it bared it's teeth at him in a savage mockery of a grin – it's brown, intelligent-looking eyes staring at him as it cocked it's head. It's head was nearly twice, no, three times the size of his.

This thing could kill him.

He backed away, and the bear took a snuffling step closer, before putting one paw on the edge of the boat – and Beckett noticed that the leaves that had been pushed on top of it to hide it had sort of dipped down... the bear had been... _sleeping_ in this boat! And it wasn't so far from the plateau where he'd been lying out in the open ground, under a tree!

Beckett backed away more and more... and then turned and ran.

* * *

**NB: **Heheh. Naw, I'm not going to have him discovered yet, where's the fun in that? Beckett is rather fun of jumping to conclusions, isn't he? I guess he's just looking out for himself...

Next update contains slyness undercover, lovers, sleepovers! Tricky trickster takes that which makes talkative taskmaster tick! (ack!) (and there is much smooth-talking, too...)


	21. A Place to Stay

TWENTY-ONE: A Place to Stay

Elizabeth stood by the door of her house, her heart in her mouth. She felt... wretched. She was panting and tired, and with every second that passed, all she could think about was – _where was Beckett? Why wasn't he here yet? _She found herself nervous – and found herself annoyed with herself for finding herself nervous.

It was slightly mixed up. And when Beckett came flying out of the forest and nearly ran into her yet again, there relief flooded into her, as well as guilt for feeling relieved, and... well, her emotions were all over the place.

"Is the bear coming after you?" She asked him. Beckett shook his head, panting. Elizabeth looked into the forest – nothing was coming. But just the thought of the bear still being in there made her want to crawl away and hide somewhere. The sun was setting – night was falling, and Beckett stopped panting, stood up, and adjusted his overcoat, brushing leaves from his shoulders – being especially careful with his tender one.

Though the bullet-wound, at last, seemed to be healing. Cleaning it out in the hot springs had done good, though Beckett still wished he had gone to see a doctor while on mainland. Actually, Elizabeth seemed willing to take a visit to mainland Jamaica soon, and they _both_ needed a doctor, anyway...

"Well... I'm going home now... uh..." Elizabeth looked around. Beckett turned to her with a small frown.

"So you're going to leave me out here with a bear?" He asked, wrinkling his nose, "Some friend you are! Oh, and where did your pirate buddies go?" He looked around.

"They're _gone_, Beckett," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but looked a little but worried, "And I'm hurt that you think I'd call up some buds to come and assassinate you. Some friend _you_ are! And anyway... since when have we been _friends_?" She pulled the most distasteful look she could onto her face, but Beckett arched an eyebrow, as if saying, _I can see right through you..._

"Since you saved my life on the first evening I was here?" He suggested, "Since I saved your life from the crevice in the ground? Since I saved your life from falling off of the cliffside? Since I rowed you _all the way_ _to Jamaica and back_? Take a pick..."

"Right..." Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose. "Right. But letting you sleep in the same building as me... let _alone _the same _room_ as me... isn't right. It's scandalous..." It was true. If a man and a woman was to share a room, then... well. These were suspicious times. It was _improper_.

"Huh. And since when did you care about _scandalous_?" He said the last bit in a high-pitched, mock-girly voice – which was odd to hear – and then he frowned at her. "I hate it when you say things that remind me of my mother."

"Your... mother?" Elizabeth's mouth dropped open. She'd heard enough about Beckett's mother to know that being compared to her was not a compliment, at all. "I am _not_ like your mother! And anyway, it's true. It would be looked down upon if anyone found out we'd shared a room... especially Will..." Her eyes took on a far-away, loving look as she spoke the name of her betrothed.

"But the bear will eat me," Beckett said dumbly, for once out of long words – and he also seemed a little put out. He shook himself, and started again. "Mrs Turner, we have long since left the scandal and controversy of high-life in the New World," Beckett said smoothly, "And I assure you I'm not about to jump on you and rape you... though I don't know if the same can be said for _you_," He finished with a light sneer, and Elizabeth flushed.

"Don't you be so crude," She snapped at him, folding her arms.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," He said, and she had come to realize that he only called her that when he wanted something really badly. "But will you please let me stay in your humble abode so I'm not killed in my sleep? It would be much appreciated."

"Ugh..." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "_Fine_, you can... but not forever, do you hear me?"

"I do hear you," Beckett said with a big smile at her, "And we have lots to discuss... beginning with this; what exactly is happening with you and William Turner?"

----------

Well, that was the worst topic conversation he could have even thought to pick. Elizabeth felt a small stab at what he'd said, and lowered her eyes downwards, shaking her head – she did _not_ want to talk about it. She wasn't going to tell anyone she didn't trust by one hundred percent the truth about Will; and _nobody_ was _ever_ going to know where his heart was hidden.

Dead Man's Chest... what a terrible, but sadly truthful name for it. Only nine years and eleven months to go – whoopee. She shook the thoughts out of her head, as if scared Beckett would read her mind. He was regarding her, carefully.

"Is he... dead?" He asked, sort of gently, but more curiously.

"No!" Elizabeth snapped – a little too forcefully. Beckett just shrugged, and shuffled a foot, waiting for Elizabeth to lead the way into her home. He wasn't ungracious enough to invite himself in, it seemed... the only bright side to Beckett being, well, Beckett.

Elizabeth walked over to her home, and pulled open the door, stepping into the dim shack. She quickly kicked a crimson, slightly lacy undergarment that she had tossed to the floor that morning, angry at how uncomfortable all of her clothes seemed to have become all of a sudden – not that her stomach was growing yet, but she felt sort of tender – and turned to face Beckett, folding her arms.

"You can sleep out there, on the floor." She said, pointing towards the landing. Beckett wrinkled his nose. The floor was stone, and covered in dirt and twigs and bits of leaves. Elizabeth had never thought to bring a broom to sweep out the front of her home, and regretted it now.

"You can do better then that, can't you?" Beckett asked her, looking at the dirt-stained floor, "Not exactly, generous, are you?"

"You think that _you_ are one to talk about generosity?!" Elizabeth demanded. "Beckett, this is my island, and what I say – _goes_!"

----------

Three and a half hours later, Elizabeth lay awake in bed, while Beckett dozed, curled up in her slightly raggedy old armchair, wrapped up in her best blanket, after they'd both had a long conversation over some food that Elizabeth had cooked for two.

She frowned to herself.

_How did this happen?!_ She thought to herself, frustrated. _Beckett!_

* * *

**NB: **Oh yes. Beckett and his mind-tricks. Thanks for the supportive reviews! They are fabulous - constructive criticism also welcome... and please, _please_ tell me if Elizabeth and Beckett begin to drift out of character, that's the most important thing! If you can't imagine then doing something I've written, give my ears a bashing! Heh, much love. 

Next update contains happy souls, drolly droll, mind control! Jabbering jerk judges jaded journal, jotting jeopardizing jokes! (ack!) (tut tut, Elizabeth shouldn't leave her journal lying around with a Beckett on the loose...)


	22. Mrs Dawson

TWENTY-TWO: Mrs Dawson

Elizabeth awoke with a long yawn, and then started to see Beckett sitting cross-legged on the armchair, his nose in a leather-bound book.

"Can I keep this?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow, without looking up from the book.

"You... you read my _journal_?!" Elizabeth shouted, leaping out of bed – still fully dressed. She hadn't wanted to undress for the night, what with Beckett being in the same building and all, so she ended up sleeping in her day clothes.

"Nothing interesting in here," Beckett shrugged, "I miss Will, I'm so lonely on this island, I wish that everything was better, blah, blah," He frowned, "You don't even mention me. Apart from one small bit..." Elizabeth leant forwards to snatch it off of him, but he swung it out of reach, quoting from the book, "_I'm so glad that Cutler Beckett is dead – that scum of the earth is better off gone. He should have been drowned at birth, though I must admit he's a handsome chap..._"

"I did _not_ write that!" Elizabeth said, appalled.

"But you were thinking it," Beckett said with a smile, and Elizabeth grabbed the journal off of his head and smacked him with it.

"Very funny, Beckett!" Elizabeth tucked the journal firmly under one arm, her heart thudding, wondering exactly how far he'd gotten into her journal. She glared at him, and he just smiled and shrugged at her, reminding her of Jack Sparrow's excuse for everything – 'pirate,' he'd say, as if that explained everything. She could imagine Beckett shrugging and saying, 'nosy prat' right about now...

"The last time you wrote in it was the day before I arrived, _weeks_ ago... you've practically forgotten about it. So can I have it?" Beckett asked her.

"But... I..." Elizabeth looked at the journal in her hands. She'd meant to start one for quite a while now, but she never could be bothered, and it only depressed her anyway; so she'd stopped. And then all of this rubbish had happened and... well, it was better to leave some things unsaid. She looked over to Beckett. "Fine," She snapped, "But I am taking _my_ entries _out_."

"I'm fine with that," Beckett said with a shrug, "As if I wan twelve pages of you lamenting about Will's lovely, cocoa, deep, _gorrrr_geous eyes..." Elizabeth swiped at him again, and he batted the journal away with hand, casually, before snatching it from her grasp and ripping out her pages, scattering them over her floor with a single flick of his hand. "Can I have something to write with, too?"

Elizabeth thought that she would burst a blood vessel if she heard one more word from Beckett, so she threw a quill at him, yanked him to his feet by his collar and practically threw him out of her house, absolutely seething.

----------

For the next few days, Beckett seldom went everywhere without his journal – _his new best friend_, Elizabeth would think sneeringly, though she was also a little annoyed. The journal was meant to be _her _friend – and, apparently, so was Beckett. Though he may have just been saying that to cadge a place to stay. Well, he wouldn't be staying in _her_ home again; that was absolutely certain.

----------

_I've got to stop him doing that_, Elizabeth suddenly thought, looking over to Beckett, who was contentedly curled up on her armchair again. Did he... hypnotize her or something?! Stupid Beckett and his stupid smooth talk... _Ugh!_

----------

She was getting very curious about what was inside Beckett's journal, though. She could spy him almost every day, sitting cross-legged under the tree, scribbling furiously in his journal, looking very preoccupied indeed. Oh, to catch a glimpse of Beckett's thoughts! It would be delicious, just to see what made him tick, just to know what he hated and what he loved, his opinions and thoughts, and also what he could have written about her.

Because she was certain he would have.

----------

Beckett pretended to write in his journal, the quill neatly sliding over the pages; empty. No ink.

He snapped the journal shut, mulling things over. Was this his only friend? Well... Elizabeth was... a sort of nearly vaguely almost approximately roughly not-quite half-friend, but she wasn't the sort of friend he felt he could confide anything to. The journal, so far, contained only _one _sentence – before the ink had run out. He heard the door to her shack opening, and he rose to his feet steadily, and looked at her expectantly. Elizabeth wouldn't just drop by for a chat, would she?

"I need rowing back to land again. Time to see a midwife." She said, folding her arms and blinking at him. He grimaced, but reluctantly nodded.

No. Of course she wouldn't 'just drop by for a chat'.

----------

So, after another long period of rowing and hard work and shoulder pain, and a long search through a town that was not the one they went to last time, and finally finding the home of a well-known midwife, they were there. Beckett didn't even know why Elizabeth _wanted_ a midwife. She wasn't giving birth yet, was she? Wasn't she meant to get a bit... bigger? Oh well. Who understood women?

"Take a seat, dear," The midwife they had been pointed to was a kindly-looking, rather old woman, with crinkles around her eyes that showed a lifetime of smiles and laughter, and greying brown hair tied up in a bun. Even though they had basically arrived with no warning on her doorstep, she seemed fine with it.

Beckett and Elizabeth both sat down at a wooden, rickety table, on creaky chairs with hand-stitched cushions on. Beckett looked around, not used to the sights, sounds and smells of a Poor Person's House. There were small handprints on the walls in – well, he wasn't sure, actually, probably some sort of paint – and bowls on the counter and a permanent smell of baking, and ragged curtains thrown open over a grimy window, which showed the grimier streets outside.

"Thank you for seeing us, Mrs Dawson," Elizabeth said, with a slightly nervous but appreciative smile. "It's my first child, and I just thought... I... I need some advice, I don't really know much about pregnancy," Elizabeth finished, looking bashful.

"That's alright, any time for a nice-looking young couple like you two," She said with a smile, and Beckett couldn't speak, which was lucky, because the words queuing up in his mind involved the words 'disgusting', 'senile' and 'bag'. Elizabeth looked pained for a moment, but then kicked Beckett's foot and shot him a warning look. If, as a 'nice-looking young couple' they were welcome here, then why argue?

"Yes, thanks," Elizabeth said, going a bit red at Beckett's look. Beckett shook it off though, and shot Elizabeth a savage smile, before clasping her hand.

"I'm so _glaaad_ that you're finally pregnant!" He said, "We've been _trying_ for _such_ a long time, haven't we, _darling_?" Elizabeth wanted to scream, but knew he was deliberately making her feel uncomfortable... and _two_ could play at that game.

"Yes... daddy always said you were no-good because you threw stones at horses and was always grabbing my bum, but I'm just so glad we eloped!" She simpered back. Beckett looked startled, and then opened his mouth to say something probably even more poisonous, when he was cut off.

"Ah, I thought you may be an eloping couple," Mrs Dawson said with a twinkle in her eye, "You just have that sparkling look about you. Young, fresh, free to the world..." Beckett and Elizabeth both shot her alarmed looks now, but Mrs Dawson seemed to be getting used to them. "I'm taking it that you wont be back to see me again? As you're on the move?"

"I'm going to try to come back to the same midwife, Mrs Dawson..." Elizabeth said, turning away from pulling a face at Beckett at last, "We would appreciate your help very much. I... we don't know what we're doing, to be honest... I just know I'm pregnant. I've been feeling it."

"A strange thing, pregnancy, you're emotions especially will be all over the place – and almost every woman who's been through pregnancy has a funny story to tell about feeling the urge to eat odd foods, and suddenly hating other foods. How long pregnant do you think you are?" Mrs Dawson asked, looking at both of them. "When was the last time you-?"

"Five weeks and a day or two ago," Elizabeth answered quickly, as Beckett shifted uncomfortably, not finding the game so fun any more. In fact, Elizabeth thought that she could see his ears going red.

"Alright... this is where all of the early symptoms start popping up, and they can be annoying. Have you been tired, feeling blue one second, angry the next, and lusting the next, headaches and nausea...?" Mrs Dawson asked, kindly. Elizabeth thought for a moment, and then nodded with a bright smile.

"Yes! Though I haven't been feeling that nauseous. Only when we were at sea," Elizabeth said with a shrug.

"Then I'm afraid that that may be what's coming next," Mrs Dawson said, patting Elizabeth's hand sympathetically, "But most of the early symptoms die down after the first twelve weeks – but some advice is to get into the habit of standing straight; though you'll probably experience mild backache through most of pregnancy," Mrs Dawson nodded and smiled. "What were your names again?"

"Oh, she's Bella-Nora Dingleby," Beckett said, as Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, failing to come up with a name before Beckett, "Dinglebells to her fans."

"And my _lovely_ husband is Cenwig, the last name comes from his side of the family, of course," Elizabeth said sweetly, "It does sound ever so silly, when I first heard that he was called Cenwig Dinglebells, I couldn't help but chuckle."

"It's Dingleby, actually," Beckett said in a snooty voice, "And I did tell you not to make fun of my Celtic heritage."

"Oh, I'm sorry, _Wiggy_," Elizabeth said, apologetically.

"Well..." The midwife seemed to be a little uncertain now, "...We have a lot of things to discuss. Rather private things – but you don't mind your beloved listening in on the conversation, do you?" Beckett made to stand up.

"I think I'll be going then. Down the pub." He declared. Elizabeth immediately grabbed his arm in an iron grip, sensing his plan to escape.

"Oh, please don't go, Wiggy," She simpered, "I need your support." She shot him the most lip-trembling, lonely, sad look that she could. The midwife looked to Beckett too, and he inwardly sighed with annoyance, before sitting down in his seat again, forcing a smile at his 'wife'.

And he tuned out completely for the next few hours.

* * *

**NB: **Hmm! A rather light-hearted chapter this time. Heh, isn't Elizabeth's life just fun, fun, fun... 

Next update contains mind games, baby names, Elizabeth can't explain! Arrogant arse too apathetic to apologize, aye? (ack!) (Beckett's baby-name suggestions don't get such a warm reception from Liz, for some mad reason...)


	23. The Name Game

TWENTY-THREE: The Name Game

"Oh, thank you so much for explaining everything, Mrs Dawson!" Elizabeth gushed happily. "We might be back, I hope so... you've been so, _so _helpful!" Beckett merely grunted, looking around the room boredly. Elizabeth elbowed him.

"Thanks," He said unenthusiastically. Mrs Dawson just chuckled.

"As for your shoulder, Mr Dingleby," She said, "I suggest you keep is clean..." _Well, thank you very much, I had _no_ idea that keeping it clean might help,_ Beckett thought, but he just nodded, keeping his forced smile on his face.

"Come on then, my dear Bella-Nora," Beckett said, cocking his elbow for her to hold onto. Elizabeth frowned at him distastefully, but took his arm anyway, so that they were linked – not something she ever expected to happen between her and Cutler Beckett, of all people.

"Thank you again, Mrs Dawson," Elizabeth said with a grateful smile as they left. They heard the door closing behind them, and Elizabeth turned to Beckett with a scowl, "You can let go of me now," She hissed.

"Oh, but you are just so charming, Mrs Turner," Beckett drawled, "And who knows if the kindly midwife is still watching or not?" Elizabeth blinked at him, but she didn't wriggle out of his grasp anyhow, and they walked down the busy street together, going nowhere in particular; just a meandering walk of the like Elizabeth had not had in a long time. "Do you have any names picked out for the baby?" Beckett asked her.

"Yes," Elizabeth said proudly, "William James Weatherby Turner."

"William, James _and_ Weatherby! My, you are the traditional type, aren't you?" Beckett raised an eyebrow, "You know, every time you say your child's full name, you are going to be reminded of three dead people. _Love_ly"

"Will isn't dead!" Elizabeth shouted at him, making a few people stare. She glared at him heatedly. She hadn't told him the truth about Will – and oh, she wished she could, just to shut him up. But she didn't want to tell him... she imagined him beginning to plot about gaining his heart, using him like he had Davy Jones... no.

"Hmm... _right_, sure..." Beckett said, obviously not believing her, "So where is he then?"

"He's... away," Elizabeth bit her lip.

"So he's abandoned you, then?" Beckett asked her, "Pregnant and alone?" His tone was blunt, though she thought she heard undertones of both curiosity and perhaps even a touch of concern... it would've been nice to think so, huh?

"No! He's coming back!" Elizabeth stared at him angrily, wishing he would stop bringing the subject up. What was it with him? Why wouldn't he stop talking about it? He _knew_ it wound her up.

"And... he told you this... did he?" Beckett asked, slowly.

"Yes, he promised," Elizabeth said helplessly, "I want it. I wanted it."

"Lies make baby Jesus cry," Beckett muttered.

"Shut it, Beckett!" Elizabeth snapped, thumping him on the shoulder.

"You wanted him to get you with child and abandon you on a deserted island?" Beckett asked her, looking mildly bemused, but mostly simply distasteful.

"No... yes... that's not what happened, alright?!" Elizabeth wrenched her arm out of his, and glared at him angrily. He paused for a moment, and then put his arm back down to his side and simply nodded curtly, his eyes snapping away from hers. "I can't explain it. Just... stop pressing it..."

"Fine," He said, and then began walking up the road, terminating the conversation. Elizabeth stared at the air where he used to be for a moment, and then stumbled after him, grabbing his shoulder and making him flinch.

"You're not getting away," She said, lowly and dangerously, so that no passer-bys would hear and get the wrong idea. Unwillingly, she linked her arm through his again, "Now let's get back to the rowing boat." She began pulling him towards the docks, and he resisted very slightly for a moment, before appearing to give in and following her down towards the quay where the small rowing boat was.

On their way, they pushed through a crowded marketplace, which was next to the docks. A female voice called after them, asking if they wanted to buy any of her carrots – but before Beckett could reply, or even turn around; Elizabeth dragged him off and towards their little boat.

"I never asked what you would call the baby if it was a girl," He said, suddenly.

"It's... it's not going to be a girl," Elizabeth said, briskly, pushing the matter away. "My baby is going to be a boy. Called William James Weatherby Turner." Beckett raised an eyebrow, but did not press the subject further.

"I think you could at least add my name to the list," He said instead, somewhat indifferently, "I'm the one having to experience your moodiness."

"One – my son is not going to have three middle names," She said, "And two – Cutler is a horrible name!" Beckett looked affronted, and she found herself laughing a little; and though she found it all too friendly for her liking, there wasn't much else she could do about it.

"Well then, get rid of one of the middle names that you've already picked," Beckett said, "And for your information, Cutler is a good English name, and it means 'knife maker'. Unlike Elizabeth, which is Hebrew." He pulled his knowing face at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't care," She said simply with a shrug.

"How about something that sounds a bit like Cutler?" He mused, "Cutter's a nice name. Cuthbert? Blegh. Cuyler... Nah. Cutter's better. How about Cutter?" Elizabeth just smiled and shook her head.

----------

"You know what, Cu... Beckett?" Elizabeth asked him on their way back. Beckett was busy rowing, though he did find the time to raise an eyebrow as she nearly called him by his first name. Hah. He simply shrugged in reply, though. "You never apologized."

"Apologized?" He managed to pant, pulling a injured look onto his face. "For what?"

"For _what_? You know perfectly well," Elizabeth scoffed. He tried to look unknowing and offended, and she rolled her eyes. "Well, let's start a list, shall we? You locked me up. You used me, and Will. And James. And Jack. In fact, you pretty much used everyone. You tried to kill me and all of my friends. You actually managed to kill quite a few of them." She paused, "Need I go on?"

"So you want me to apologize." Beckett said flatly.

"Yes," Elizabeth said with a nod. He stared at her. "You owe it to me, Beckett! You owe it to all of us."

"That is so stupid, it makes me want to cry," Beckett complained. "You think you're the only one that's missing out? At least you have a life now. I have no contact with my family, I'm believed to be dead and completely incompetent so my apparent death wont even be remembered in a good light, and everything I owned before has been taken away. That's loss."

"Beckett. You deserve it. _You_ were the one killing and punishing and using people." Elizabeth said darkly.

"Nnnngh..." Beckett said, noncommittally.

"Apologize, Beckett, or I might just throw you off of this boat here and now." Elizabeth said. Beckett frowned at her. "Don't be an arse, Beckett – you're a dirty double-crosser, and you know it."

"Nnnnn_yesss_... but..." Beckett just looked at her imploringly, and she shook her head.

"Beckett, only the truly desperate would resort to something as childish as puppy-eyes," She smirked, "Now, say you're sorry. Don't you owe me that much?" She blinked at him.

"Ehh..." Another thing about Beckett was that he hated being wrong, and so hated having to apologize. Elizabeth probably knew this. "So... sorry?"

"That was feeble," Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow.

"So are you," He muttered under his breath, but loudly he said, "Would you perhaps like me to bend down on one knee, beg for your forgiveness, and offer to be your servant for the rest of your life?"

"You know, that would be more of a punishment then a show of gratitude," Elizabeth said with a sigh. Beckett cocked his head.

"For both of us," He said, "So let me go."

* * *

**NB: **Beckett and Elizabeth... are so... married-couple... also, I completely wrote the following message on the last chapter and screwed up, how embarrassing... _this_ is the chapter when I am meant to say; the market and the girl selling carrots - remember them!

Next update contains stomach podgy, real apology, something dodgy! Feindish friendship with no faith, foetus growing fast, fatherly family feel? Finally, the fizzy, flashy man we love! FIRE! (ack!) (All completed with the slightest hint á la Sparrow...)


	24. Trouble

TWENTY-FOUR: Trouble

Beckett looked at Elizabeth through the half-darkness... and walked quietly across the small room, to where Elizabeth lay in bed. He could see her shape rising and falling slowly, and her breaths were deep and unhurried. He leaned over her head, and waved a hand in front of her face, and her eyelids fluttered. He knelt down, and leaned forwards so that his mouth was by her ear.

"I really am sorry," He breathed, softly. In the dead of night, it was hard to tell whether this was some bizarre dream or not. Elizabeth's eyes opened, and she looked at him. She gave a sleepy smile, and nodded, before closing her eyes again.

Acting or not acting, it was an apology... and it... it _sounded_ sincere...

----------

However, of course, Elizabeth wasn't about to 'let him go' – he had to stay. And weeks began to pass. Months. Soon she hit the five-months-line; and her stomach had grown by then; not too much, but it was noticeable. She began wearing loose-fitting clothes, and her dizzy spells and fatigue and the eventual nausea wore off, and in fact she began feeling rather good.

She was worried about the relationship between her and Beckett, though. She'd hidden the boat again, but soon she wouldn't be able to do too much heavy lifting; so they'd gathered up a lot of supplies and for the next four months of pregnancy they were staying mostly on the island, until birth. Then, a day or so before birth, Beckett would row her to mainland and get a midwife – perhaps Mrs Dawson – to help. She'd predicted the birth to be in four months and two weeks.

She was aware that she was perhaps becoming more friendly with Beckett; 'too' friendly. She knew that she should distance herself from him – not get attached emotionally to him... but she couldn't help it. They weren't exactly close friends, but at the same time – they had a fun, bantering half-friendship going on, one that she found herself enjoying. The apology; it had seemed so sincere – but at the same time, she knew Beckett couldn't be trusted. And... she was betraying everyone she knew.

But she couldn't exactly kill him now, could she?

----------

"Mrs Dawson said this is about the time I could feel the baby kicking!" Elizabeth said, putting her hands on her slightly-rounded stomach. She could feel, very occasionally, a faint fluttering in her stomach; a feeling like her tummy was full of bubbles and butterflies, going upwards. Her baby!

"Babies kick their mothers?" Beckett said, his usually disinterested eyes snapped to attention, locking onto hers.

"Yes... but it's not in the... _violent_ way..." She stared at Beckett, and then shook her head, "Do you want to feel it?"

"Feel what?" Beckett asked, "A baby kicking me? Oh, that sounds _great_," He blinked at her as she grabbed his hand, and put it on her stomach. Not the oddest thing that had ever happened to him, but it ranked rather high. There was a pause. "Nothing's happening, Elizabeth..."

"Shhh!" Elizabeth tilted her head, and then there was a small pressing in her stomach, a tiny little feeling, and Beckett looked at her blankly.

"Is that it?" He asked her. Elizabeth sighed; but she'd been the same. As a young woman, one of her friends had gotten engaged, married, and then pregnant; all in the right order. And her friend had gloated her stomach and how the baby kicked openly – and Elizabeth had felt it. And thought it as rather anticlimactic.

But now, now that it was _her_ baby... it was absolutely fabulous to feel. A real, live little baby, in her stomach – the show of true love between her and Will...

"My little baby isn't going to be executing deadly flip-kicks any time soon, Beckett," She said, rubbing her stomach. Beckett took his hand away, and gave her an odd look.

"It obviously takes after Will... little weakling," Beckett said with a smirk, and prodded her stomach, "Hey, Cutter-to-be, kick harder, aim for the spleen..."

"Beckett," Elizabeth glared at him, "Stop it! And also... I am _not_ calling him Cutter!" But now he had her worried. What if her baby _was_ to accidentally squash her heart or something? Well, it was best not to dwell on these things she didn't understand... and she also caught the snide insult to Will that Beckett was making. She sighed.

----------

A couple of days later, they were both strolling across the beach, up towards the forest, when Beckett suddenly spoke.

"I'll race you," He said. It was rather sudden.

"Don't be childish," Elizabeth said disdainfully, "As if!" Beckett just gave a small half-smile, shrugged, and then took off up towards the forest. Elizabeth blinked, looked around herself, and then found herself running up the beach too, calling out. "That's... that's cheating!"

Beckett stopped, and turned to face her. He was laughing. _Got you,_ his eyes seemed to say. But, of course, not out loud – eyes don't talk.

----------

What an unfathomable creature Beckett was. Elizabeth rolled over on the grassy slope in the forest, plucking at the grass, and watching him on the beach. He was idly digging around in the sand with his hand, sitting cross-legged, staring out to sea. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she'd ever understand him. It had been just over five months now – twenty weeks! And still, he continued to surprise her.

He looked so different now, too – his dark blonde, wavy hair was naturally somewhat messy, coming out in curls here, there and everywhere... no wonder he'd opted for a wig. His pale, powdered skin had taken a bit of a beating too; sunburn and a faint cut under one eye interrupted the usual blemishless skin. Also, Beckett had always been quite slim; but now, lack of rich dinners and his usual, endless mugs of sugary tea had stripped quite a lot of meat off of him – even the usual, English roundness to his cheeks had turned somewhat gaunt.

In other words, he didn't look... too healthy. His shoulder seemed to be healing now, to Elizabeth's relief; five months and it still pained him, but the wound was getting better now. And that was good... though she didn't know _why_ exactly she thought it was good. She was meant to hate him. Meant to be keeping him here simply to avoid being ratted out.

Did he like her? Hate her? Was he using her, or did he feel the companionship that she did? Was everything he did and said an act; or was it real? It was confusing. It was odd. She didn't know what to make of him any more.

----------

Beckett was about to plunge his hand into the sand again, when there was a bang and the ground directly beneath his hand shot in all directions, sending clumps of sand everywhere. He blinked, unable to work out why the ground appeared to be exploding, when he heard a shout that made his head jerk upwards.

"Oi! What're you doing on Lizzie's island, you oily git?!" As he recognized the man, Beckett paled, and leapt to his feet, beginning to dash up the sandy slopes in a panic; dodging around large rocks and ducking his head.

"Elizabeth!" He shouted, running up the beach – as Captain Jack Sparrow reloaded his gun.

* * *

**NB: **Teehee. Beckett's hair is curly wurly underneath his wig. Uh. End of. And finally it's our favourite sea captain! Fanfare please, ladies and gentlemen!

Next update contains jack's back, heart attack! Reckless rascal after revenge! Rum, rum, rum and rum. (ack!) (It can only lead to trouble...)


	25. The Betrayal

TWENTY-FIVE: The Betrayal

Cutler Beckett. Of all people, Cutler Beckett. He'd come to visit Elizabeth like a nice chap; and in her place he had found... Cutler Beckett. He'd barely recognized the man at first – and barely believed his eyes when he had. But it was him alright. Definitely him. And that... that was scary. Was Elizabeth dead? How had he survived? What foul plans would he be getting up to? He didn't really care about the answers, he just wanted to blow his head off. He jumped from the dinghy and into the ocean, wading to shore, managing to get the bullet into his gun at last. He'd never known Beckett to run, he'd been more of a smooth-talking type to slither out of trouble. Could Beckett lose his head?

Well, they'd find out soon enough, wouldn't they?

Grr! He'd made his escape pretty quickly! Seeing a moving shape ducking around behind one of the rocks protruding from the ground, he took a pot shot, which bounced off of said rock, causing splinters of flinty grey rock to fly out in all directions. Where was he going?

Wait. He'd shouted out Elizabeth's name. That was a good thing because Elizabeth was alive... but they were meant to be sworn enemies. So why was Beckett shouting out her name? Hmm – either way, Beckett should be shot.

_That_ he could agree with... uh, _himself_ on.

----------

_Oh dear_, Elizabeth thought quietly to herself, as she leapt to her feet and began striding out towards the beach – and had Beckett colliding into her. Beckett and her both staggered backwards a little, and Beckett stared at her for a moment, before starting to talk.

"Jack Sparrow's here, he wants to kill me, he doesn't seem in the mood for listening to reason, would you mind just..." There was another gunshot, and the branch of a tree nearby suddenly exploded.

"Get back to the hut, and when I get there, pass me the empty gun – _without_ Jack seeing!" Elizabeth hissed at him, before rushing out of the forest; leaving Beckett and his questioning look so that she could go and face her friend. Sort of friend. "Jack! It's me!" She shouted, and Jack lowered his pistol with a broad smile, before suddenly seeming to remember the Beckett Situation.

"What is 'Lord' Cutler _bloody_ Beckett doing on your island?" He demanded.

"Jack... look, it seems bad, but... it's going to take some explaining... come up to my hut with me. Beckett probably would have gone up there." Jack blinked at her, and then nodded once, beads and coins a-jangling in his dreadlocks.

"You don't mind if I shoot 'im, do you?" He asked her. "It's great for stress."

"I'm afraid I do..." She smiled at Jack, "Beckett's a prisoner here, don't worry. He washed up, and... I'm keeping him prisoner."

"Oh, smashing," Jack said, but after a pause he frowned, "But wait... why haven't you just shot him?"

"Because... the East India Trading Company have said they'll give me money for his life," Elizabeth said, inventing wildly, though somewhere inside she knew that no amount of lies was going to deter Jack of the truth. He was the lying master, after all.

"Oh..." There was another pause as Jack thought. Elizabeth knew that she shouldn't let his drunk and disorderly looks deceive her – he was sharp. Ish. "But if they know where you are, why haven't they just come here and blasted you to kingdom come? And if Beckett's your prisoner, why was he lying on the beach peacefully? And if-"

"I... look, just wait for me to explain it all, will you?" She sighed to him.

----------

A couple of hours, and a lot of talking later, Beckett, Jack and Elizabeth were sitting in her small, draughty home – Elizabeth was pointing an empty gun to Beckett's head, Jack was pointing a loaded gun at Beckett's head, and Beckett was trying to feel reassured by the single bullet in his pocket. It wasn't working.

"You've changed, Beckett," Jack said to him.

"You haven't," Beckett smirked, leaning back in his seat, completely at ease with the weapons being pointed at him right at that moment.

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

"It is."

"Will you two stop a second?" Elizabeth sighed, massaging her temple. This was enough trouble as it was, without Jack and Beckett taking part in their usual mockery, and now both of the men turned to face her. "Jack, look... I... there's no point in killing Beckett, alright? I don't want to."

"You... don't want to kill Beckett?" Jack frowned at her, "Who are you then? What have you done to my friend Lizzie?" He prodded her, "You're fat, too. Who are you, and what 'ave you been doing with Beckett... mmmhhm?" His usual tact.

"Absolutely nothing of _that_ sort," Elizabeth said with a frown.

"Just because every time you're on an island with a member of the opposite sex ends in one thing, doesn't mean it's the same for everyone else," Beckett sneered, "There hasn't been any frenzied lovemaking going on here. Well, apart from perhaps between her and Mr Turner..."

"Will's been here?" Jack asked, dumbly.

"On his last day, Jack," Elizabeth said, blushing, "He... we... I'm pregnant," She blurted. There was a small silence.

"Huh. So he wasn't a eunuch after all." Jack muttered. Then he got back to the matter at hand. "Well, that doesn' matter. What matters is that Beckett is here, Beckett is alive, and you have a gun. Put two and two together, and you have Beckett not here, also known as, dead."

"There's no need to resort to-" Beckett began, and was interrupted.

"No more killing, Jack," Elizabeth said suddenly, "I promised myself. I did shoot Beckett, but it hit his shoulder. I thought he was dead. And I promised myself no more killing." She could only look at him unhappily as he thought about this. Then he laughed.

"You don't honestly trust this man, do you?" The notorious sea captain leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes searching hers. Beckett felt a little excluded from their little tête-à-tête, but didn't comment.

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as two different pairs of eyes rested on her, heavy as lead, each hoping for a different answer. Any answer would let one or the other down... she kept her mouth closed.

"Betrayal... you know what this is? Betrayal of piratekind! It happens all the time. Everyone hates pirates, even pirates..." Jack scratched behind one ear, "You are siding with Cutler Beckett... the man who tried to wipe out pirates from the world all together!"

"Sadly, I failed," Beckett muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"Though you ain't exactly unfamiliar with _betrayal_, eh, Liz?" Jack said, looking at her seriously, though a small smile was tugging at the edge of his lips – one that said, _I win_.

"Jack... you know that what I did was necessary," Elizabeth said, sharply, knowing where this was leading... sort of.

"I'm never going to forget it, you know," Jack wagged a finger at her.

"It was to save our lives!" Elizabeth replied hotly.

"It was a crime!"

"It had to be done!"

"It was evil!"

"It was essential!"

"Wrong!"

"I _had_ to, Jack!"

"There must have been some other way!"

"It's over now!"

"Still immoral, though!"

"Jack!" Elizabeth sighed, "You're never going to forgive me, are you?"

"Never," Jack replied with a small smile, "Burning rum is just... inexcusable." Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, seeming lost for words for a moment... and then nodded. It'd do.

"Oh, very funny, Jack," Beckett said, rolling his eyes.

"What? What do you mean?" Jack asked, casually pointing his gun towards Beckett in a way that suggested less then friendly intentions. Well, a bullet that would clip him right between the eyes wasn't really a sign of amity.

"Everyone knows about the time Elizabeth fed you to Jones' kraken," Beckett said vaguely, frowning slightly and wiping some dust from the table with a finger.

"I didn't... _feed_ him to the kraken!" Elizabeth said angrily. _And what do you mean, 'everyone knows'?_ She thought to herself, rather worriedly.

"Hmm," was Beckett's rather doubtful reply.

* * *

**NB: **AAAUUGH! JACK SPARROW'S FLIPPING FJADOLKANFKJAN FKLANDKA... ahem. Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen. But I am a complete idiot and find Jack _impossible_ to write. Does he seem out of character?! Ughhhh! Okay, that's that over. Sorry. It's just... ack! Now, I wonder what Jack's going to do next? Mmmmmhm?

Next update contains sniping quips, pity pretty quick, real sliiiiick! Gun going to gruesomely gouge Beckett's goading grin? Great... (ack!) (Beckett gets all surly and I think it's cute... SQUEE! That's me turning into a Beckett fangirl. Oh dear.)


	26. Friendly Hostility

TWENTY-SIX: Friendly Hostility

Beckett could do little else then watch with a touch of hostility as the old friends reacquainted themselves. It had only been an hour or so, and already he was wishing Jack would just leave already. His life was still in the balance... but it seemed he had gotten away with it. It was obvious that Jack liked Elizabeth too much to shoot Beckett on the spot. He'd probably give her some sort of warning first.

"Are y'sure you don't want any rum?" Jack asked Elizabeth, as she passed him a bottle. She shook her head. He looked over to Beckett, who didn't bother replying. "Why's he gotten so surly all of a sudden?" He asked Elizabeth, loudly.

"I'm not being s-" Beckett was, for the hundredth time, cut off.

"I'm not really sure," Elizabeth gave a small smile, "I think he's just used to being centre of attention all of the time. Doesn't like being left in the dark." She pouted at him. Beckett rolled his eyes and slumped back further in his seat, folding his arms.

"Well, I like the quieter Beckett better," Jack said. Elizabeth thanked her stars that Jack was so laid-back about it all – the pistol was still hanging loosely in his hand, but he didn't seem about to blow Beckett's head off; which was good. She didn't know _why_ it was good... but it was.

"Jack... you're not going to kill Beckett, are you?" She asked him. Beckett resented being talked about in third person when he was standing right next to them, but didn't comment on it. "I mean... I just promised myself, Jack."

"So... the whole thing about the Trading Company, hostages and so on was all a load of bollocks, then?" Jack asked her.

"I... well, yes, it was," Elizabeth admitted, "I just... no more death, Jack," Elizabeth said darkly. "Losing Will was enough." Jack frowned for a second, but then seemed to take pity on her, looking so pathetic, pretty and... well, pregnant.

"Only for ten years, love," He said comfortingly.

"Only for ten years. Gee, Jack, that makes it sound even better," She said, hollowly, "Nine years, six months, three weeks and three days to go!"

"Oh. You've been... counting the days..." Jack blinked at her.

"Ten years? Why ten years?" Beckett suddenly decided to pipe up.

"You shut up, you," Jack replied.

----------

"I suppose if it'll keep you happy, I'm not goin' to kill him yet," Jack said later on, though he didn't sound too certain about his decision, "But I'm telling you, Lizzie, it'll all end in tears. You can't trust him... you know that, right?" He frowned at her.

"I..." Elizabeth just sighed, "I know that, Jack. But I have the gun." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, was it? He hadn't mentioned bullets. "I don't want the place I live getting out, so... I have to keep him prisoner here."

"Or you could kill him..." Jack said, innocently. Well, as innocent as Captain Jack Sparrow can be.

"Jack. Please." Elizabeth shrugged, her eyes downcast. She didn't want any more killing, and she didn't want the place she was living being found out; but was that really the entire reason she was making sure Beckett wasn't shot any time soon? It would be easy. Just tell Jack – one nod and he could raise his gun and kill Beckett on the spot. Easy.

And for some reason, really, really wrong...

----------

"You have to go so soon? My, what a shame. Oh well. Bye, then." Beckett smirked, folding his arms and leaning back against a rock, as Jack clambered into his dinghy... which he first had to drag off of the beach, turn back the right-way up, and bail. Jumping off of a dinghy onto a dockless island wasn't exactly intelligent. He'd just become caught up in his kill-Beckett rush.

"Beckett... I still don't like you," Jack said, sitting down heavily.

"Wait – I never asked you what brought you here," Elizabeth said, holding onto the edge of his dinghy, "Where are you headed to? Did you come for any reason? And where's the _Pearl_?"

"Can't tell you with any high amount of exactitude, never you mind about that, and if I knew that Barbossa would be being lynched by now." Jack concluded with a nod, "Bye, Lizzie, I'll be seeing you. Good luck with the little squirt." Elizabeth thought he meant the baby, but Jack was looking directly at a scowling Cutler Beckett.

"Is that Sao Feng's map?" She asked him, as he pulled something out from underneath his seat.

"Yes... and I'm sorry to say that it's cryptic at best." Jack muttered.

"Bye, Jack, thanks for visiting," She said quietly.

"It was no trouble," Jack said, shooting Beckett a wary look. Beckett put on a mocking, fake smile and waved. Jack did the same back. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and folded her arms – watching Jack's dinghy bob somewhat uncertainly through the ocean, further and further away.

"You know he wouldn't have come here for just a visit, don't you?" Beckett asked her. "He always has some reason."

"Unfortunately, you're right," Elizabeth sighed, "But I like to think otherwise."

----------

Out to sea, Jack checked his compass, and grinned as it pointed true, towards the open horizon. He began fiddling with the sails, the bottles of rum he had nicked from Elizabeth clinking inside his inner pocket.

He was back on track again.

* * *

**NB: **Rar. I'm glad Jack's out of here. Honestly, I'm so terrible at writing him - though thanks to all who said that the mass damage I have done to poor Captain Jack wasn't too bad, heh. Okay, the reson for Jack showing up? You may choose one of the following and sprinkle in as you wish; 1) Jack was just passing by and decided to drop in, 2) Jack's compass wouldn't stop pointing to Elizabeth so he came to the island to settle it (for sparrabethers), and, 3) He did it for the rum. End of. 

As for the Beckett Fangirl situation, I have joined an anonymous group that meets on saturdays to discuss our grave problem and eat cookies. Hopefully I will be cured in a couple of weeks. (For those of you who think I am being actually serious... ha-ha.)

Next update contains hunting, punting, somethingelseunting! Tally-ho! Trustless townsgirl Elizabeth totally and tactlessly taxes teddyboy. (sorry, Beckett, needed the T-word) (Elizabeth takes a turn at peering at journals now. Beckett is not amused. And he doesn't like cooking, either.)


	27. The Hunter

TWENTY-SEVEN: The Hunter

Careful now. Careful. The prey was in sight – snuffling away, just through some more foliage. Movements had to be measured; careful and silent, discreet, reserved. But at the same time – fast. Sleek, like a big cat. Yes. The prey was all that mattered now; forget everything else. And most of all – be soundless.

How long had it been now? Stalking wild boar was not like stalking deer. Easier, for a start. Much easier. But that wasn't saying much. Creeping through the forest, pushing vines out of the way, being silent, with a spear held tightly in one hand. Careful. That was important. One slip-up and it all would have been a waste of time. And that was not allowed to happen.

The wild boar didn't seem to suspect anything – but animals don't generally give away signs that they know you're there. Not unless they see you as a threat. The boar would probably run off at seeing a threat; that, or charge. That would not be very pretty. But life was harsh. You had to deal with it.

Time to make a move, any time now. Was it too soon? Did it know? Would it work? Well, there was only one way to find out. Quick, quick – slow, slow, slow. You had to choose your movements very carefully. Small steps, big steps.

You had to change. You had to be... someone that wasn't yourself. Something that wasn't yourself. Menacing, hostile, cold and calculating – like a wolf. Like an assassin; dead-eyed and vicious. Still, but able to spring into action. Yes, that was a good simile, actually. You had to be... you had to be a hunter.

Snap!

The wild boar paused for a second, and then turned and bulleted off into the undergrowth; disappearing in three seconds flat – alerted to another presence by the snap of a twig.

"I hate this place," A male voice muttered.

----------

How, _how_ had it come to this? Tramping through a forest with a sharpened stick as a spear, hunting boar? This sort of thing was meant to happen to people who got gossiped about _near_ him – not _him_! But no. Life was different now – though he still had dreams about his old life. Dreams so vivid and close to him that he woke up feeling like his old self for a moment, before having it snatched away again.

And that little whinge would have been more dramatic with backing music. It was all Elizabeth's fault!

"If only we could hunt," She'd sighed, "Then we wouldn't have to worry so much about food. But I'm pregnant, and you're... well. You." She'd smirked at him then, and then had he been the better person and not responded? Ohhhh _no_.

"I can hunt. And I'll prove it." He wished he could take back his words now. But there was no point in wallowing around miserable – he had to get a wild boar, before the end of today, and prove to her that he could; thus making him the winner, her the stupid one, and they both get a meal in the process.

----------

Perhaps a trap would work. He'd suggested it to Elizabeth already, but she'd laughed in his face. He'd explained to her the mechanics of how to create it and all as simply as he could, but Elizabeth simply would not listen to reason!

"Look. I am _not _going to hammer splints of wood into an eight-foot hole in the ground. Understand?" She'd asked him, sounding amused.

----------

Elizabeth relaxed on the outskirts of the forest – there was long grass here, and not many trees. It was a bit like an overgrown field, a meadow, perhaps? She didn't know what they were called, but it didn't matter. For once she had peace and quiet! Honestly, having Beckett around was sometimes as bad as having a rampaging three-year-old on the loose. She always had to run around after him. Clean up after him. Fix things he broke. Always had to make sure he wasn't up to anything stupid, sneaky or both.

But now he was occupied, running around in the forest with his cute little makeshift spear (wow, she was become patronizing), and she had some time to herself. Birds whistled, and the grass whispered contentedly around her, and she sat cross-legged, her hand cradling her stomach. She had reached the six-month line now; twenty-four weeks. It had been hard work.

She was much more visibly pregnant; her stomach bump had been growing larger rapidly for the last couple of weeks. She fanned herself with a small, leather-bound book, smiling a secret smile. She had Beckett's journal. Ha ha ha! She wiped some sweat from her brow – the faintest sheen of perspiration, even though she'd simply been sitting there.

Stealing a glance around, she opened the journal up on the first page. She could see the ripped remains of the pages that he had pulled out that belonged to her – single strips along the spine. The first page was blank. Well, she supposed that wasn't too out of the ordinary. She turned the page again.

And again and again. She began flipping through the book, frowning. There was nothing in here! Huh! So what, exactly, had he been doing all of the time she'd seen him scrawling away? She suddenly saw some writing flash past – and quickly flicked back to the page she'd seen it on.

_Look behind you._

Scary. Elizabeth frowned, and warily turned her head around. She glanced at the grass, swishing behind her – what? What was there to see, exactly? Suddenly, the journal was jerked out of her hands, and she snapped her head forwards again with a cry. Beckett stood there, holding his journal, looking tired, dirty, and rather irritated. Elizabeth blinked at him.

"Please, don't try to pry in my personal business again, it hurts my feelings," Beckett said. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"There's nothing bloody in there!" She replied.

"I know. You gave me a quill, but no ink. Not that I need pen and paper to store my thoughts down, my mind is perfectly capable of that – I was merely interested in whether you are curious about my feelings. Which, obviously, you are." He sneered. Elizabeth blinked, thinking about how odd it was that Beckett's smooth-talking, high-class voice and accent should be coming out of the mouth of a man with a streak of dirt down one cheek, leaves sticking out of his hair, who was leaning on a spear.

"Caught anything yet?" She asked, in an amused voice. He sighed.

"I'm getting closer," He said indignantly as she chuckled. She just shook her head at him, and he sighed and sat down on the ground opposite her, smoothing down a cuff, seeming completely oblivious to the fact that said cuff was tattered and caked in mud. "And anyway, I'll catch if _you_ can cook."

"But..." Elizabeth frowned. She'd never had to cook before all of this. The small meals she'd prepared whilst on the island had been little more then simple water brought to boil over a fire with some vegetables thrown in to make an uncomplicated soup. "That's not fair. It's not like _you're_ a master chef."

"You expect me to be the master hunter, though," He smirked, "So I see no reason why I can't expect you to be able to cook what I catch."

"I didn't _tell_ you to go and catch something, you know," Elizabeth said, leaning back with her hands over her bump once more, though she seemed unable to get comfortable, no matter _what_, "You decided it yourself. I didn't say that I could cook it."

"No... but you did express a strong desire for some fresh meat. I assumed it was for cooking – then again, you could eat it raw," Beckett blinked at her.

"_You _could cook it," Elizabeth suggested. Beckett arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," He said.

"Well, I don't – Beckett, don't point that thing at me!" Elizabeth suddenly snapped. Beckett looked surprised; before realizing that as he'd idly been fiddling with his spear, and it was now pointed towards Elizabeth. He frowned, and glared at her.

"You're never going to trust me, are you, Elizabeth?" He asked her, an oddly high amount of emotion easily audible in his quiet voice. He stood up, and glanced at her once, witheringly, before striding away.

Elizabeth sighed to herself, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, as the friendly atmosphere popped, fragile as a bubble; and spread out just as thin.

* * *

**NB: **Oh dear. These two still have a long way to go before they become friends. Which Beckett proves in the next chapter... 

Next update contains fab to drab, Beckett in a drag! Does the dotty, dramatic dude think dilly-dallying with delicate, delicious dresses of darling Elizabeth is wise? Doubt it! (Beckett didn't realize Elizabeth was so good at poker. Good god. And one hell of a cliffhanger too... ho ho.)


	28. Dress Up

TWENTY-EIGHT: Dress Up

He had it now!

Stab – stab – stab... Beckett looked down at the bleeding boar, whining and kicking around on the floor, wounds slashed open across it's back and side (not it's backside), and wondered about how long it was taking to die. He stabbed it once more, and then again; and finally, it was still. Beckett didn't know if it was dead, though.

He took a deep breath, and then bent down next to the boar. It lay still, no more breath in it's body. Dead. It was dead. He'd killed it. But Beckett was never the type to hold onto these regrets, was he?

"Sorry, chum," He said indifferently, "We need your meat."

He picked it up by a back hoof and began dragging it back home.

----------

_Did I just refer to Elizabeth's shack as 'home'?_ He wondered to himself.

They did manage to cook and eat the little boar. Elizabeth carefully made sure to roast it evenly, and then they used small pocketknives to skin and try it. It was alright – but not exactly high standard food. They probably wouldn't try it again for a while, at any rate.

----------

"What're you doing?" Elizabeth demanded. Beckett sighed.

"Oh, you know, horse-riding, maybe a bit of polo, that sort of thing," He replied. "What do you think I'm doing on a bed in the dark? I am – or _was_ – sleeping."

"It's not _a_ bed – it's _my_ bed," Elizabeth snapped.

"I haven't slept in a proper bed for near enough six months now," Beckett muttered sleepily, "I'm just trying to get some rest."

"Well, _don't_," Elizabeth said, and she grabbed a hold of the sheets and whipped them upwards, rolling Beckett off of bed and onto the floor with a thump. He lay there for a moment.

"Charming, charming, in every way charming. Such an ever-so-charming girl." Beckett muttered mutinously from the floor.

----------

"What're you doing, eyeing up my gun?" Elizabeth's voice suddenly cut into the silence. Beckett turned around, looking at her, sitting up in bed, glaring at him as he reached for the only pistol on the island. Christ! That was the second time she'd done that!

"Just looking," He replied nonchalantly, "It's not like I can use it, is it?"

Six months and a couple of weeks, it had been. And still he had his emergency bullet, and still he was staying in the shack. What? Bears could be dangerous! And besides, Elizabeth didn't complain – well, she did, but he knew she loved him _really_. Beckett still really wanted to get his hands on the gun – though, he found, not as much as he had before. But that didn't mean too much... not to him.

"Hmm," Elizabeth said, narrowing her eyes.

"Elizabeth, I just like the gun, alright? I like the feel of a gun. It makes me feel... safer. I've rarely _not_ had a gun in my pocket since aged seventeen." Beckett steeped his fingers and blinked at her.

"And what's your point?" Elizabeth asked, rolling her eyes.

"Can I have the gun?" he asked, talking slowly, as if he'd been explaining all along and couldn't believe he had to spell it out for her.

"No," Elizabeth got up, and walked forwards, snatching the gun up. Beckett frowned.

"How about... a wager?" Beckett arched an eyebrow at her, and Elizabeth snorted and shook her head. But he persisted anyway. "A game of poker – for the gun. If I win, I get the useless gun – if you win, you can make me do anything. _Anything_ you like." It was a good deal.

"Could I dress you up in women's clothing?" Elizabeth asked. There was a brief pause.

"Yes..." He said, finally, with an uncomfortable cough.

"You're on," She said with a smirk, "You cross-dressing, for a useless gun. Say 'goodbye' to your dignity and reputation, Beckett, I'm never going to let you forget it."

"Hmm," was all Beckett said in reply. He was faintly beginning to regret the open-endedness of his proposition...

----------

Elizabeth had bought the pack of cards at their last visit to mainland. They played a few games now and again – but never gambled. Time to break the trend... Beckett furrowed his brow as his eyes flicked over his cards. It wasn't exactly going... well. Oh dear. He did have a backup plan, but still, losing this game of poker would have rather embarrassing consequences. He hadn't thought Elizabeth could play poker! It wasn't a woman's game! And now it was nearing the end. Sooner then it seemed, unknown to him.

"Royal flush," Elizabeth said, spreading her cards across the ground and smirking at Beckett triumphantly.

"You cheated," Beckett said weakly.

"No I didn't," Elizabeth said, cocking an eyebrow. Beckett swallowed.

"Uh... best of three?" He tried.

"I think the _green_ dress will work best with your eyes," Elizabeth said, "Perhaps some bright blusher will soften your complexion a little..." She grinned, as Beckett stared at her.

He was completely lost for words – something that had happened to him only three times since his eighth birthday.

----------

"You look... ridiculous," Elizabeth giggled, as Beckett made his grand – er, exit from her shack. He patted down his petticoat, with as much dignity as he could muster. Which wasn't much.

"I know," he replied, "The darker lipstick would have looked so much better."

"Come here," Elizabeth laughed, spinning him around and bringing the back of the silky green dress he was wearing down, and tightening the corset so much it winded him. He wriggled uncomfortably.

"These clothes... are... _lovely_," He remarked, "Breathtaking, in fact. No pun intended." Elizabeth laughed again.

"It's pronounced _pun_," She said, saying it to rhyme with 'drum'.

"What? No it isn't," Beckett said with a slight frown, "I've always said it pun. And, as you know, I am always right." He pronounced it to rhyme with 'prune'. Elizabeth jerked tightly on the corset strings. "Ouch."

"This'll look better," Elizabeth said, going around to his front and stuffing some cloth down the top – giving him an ample bust. From the neck-down, Beckett looked like a sophisticated lady, even down to his strapped shoes – well, albeit a bit of an odd-shaped lady. He rolled his eyes as Elizabeth laughed, again. "Maybe I could do your hair too..."

"Haven't you done enough?" Beckett grumbled, gently pulling off a number of bracelets and rings and dropping them on the ground, "You won the bet. All is well. Apart from one thing..." He reached into the folds of his dress – and brought out the gun. "When you let me in there to change in privacy, you forgot that the gun was in there too."

"Give it back," Elizabeth ordered.

"No," Beckett said, and then he raised an eyebrow at her, "Watch this." He reached down the top of his dress, and pulled out a bullet, from where he had lodged it in the criss-cross of lace there. Beckett read a lot of books. Elizabeth's mouth dropped open as he loaded the pistol, and aimed it at her.

"You dirty cheat," She hissed at him, her smile sliding off of her face.

"I think _you_ are the one that cheated. You just _happened_ to get a Royal Flush, when you were the one dealing, eh? Like I believe that." Beckett smiled, and cocked the gun, loving the cool feel of the metal – the sense of power that came with it. Elizabeth paled, cradling her stomach.

"You wouldn't, would you?" She breathed.

Beckett couldn't reply for a moment. He wouldn't what? Oh. _Shoot_ her. Yes, that was the part of the plan that he'd been... avoiding. Skirting around a little. He had his ambitions – he had to get off of the island – and he wasn't really going to be able to leave if Elizabeth had anything to say about it. He looked at her then; really looked at her. Hands cupped over her protruding stomach, in which a new life was blossoming. Her eyes wide, a strand of hair hanging loose from her bun and hanging in front of widened eyes.

He knew what he had to do. He didn't want to do it, and hell – he knew that he would regret it later. But there was no other option. _I can't believe I'm about to do this_, he thought, before aiming...

...and firing. Once.

* * *

**NB: **And by the way, no update tomorrow as I am busy. Aren't I evil?

Next update contains might, light, love at first sight! Cantankerous! Complaining! Crabby! Crooning! Combing! Caring! Cutler! And, uh, carrots? (Beckett in love? Oh, god no, now there's a force to be reckoned with...)


	29. Carrots

TWENTY-NINE: Carrots

Elizabeth could do nothing but stare in shock as Beckett raised his arm, pointing the gun _skywards_ – and then shot, right towards the clouds. The only bullet on the island sped away into the sky; vanishing quickly. A faint line of smoke curled gently from the top of the gun. Beckett seemed devastated.

She couldn't believe it.

Unable to control herself, she stumbled forwards towards him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug, relief and gratitude and god-knows-what surging through her.

"Steady on," Beckett mumbled uncomfortably.

"I can't believe you just did that," Elizabeth finally managed, looking him in the eyes. "You... you..." She shook her head wordlessly. She didn't know whether to be angry or affectionate of the man. He had always been confusing like that; and now, it was driven to the extremes. Enmity and friendship. The man she loved to hate to like to poke fun at to argue with to rely on... Aaargh!

"Neither can I," he muttered, and she laughed nervously.

"I didn't think that you... that you're..." She closed her eyes, "You've changed, Cutler. For the better." She smiled. He gazed evenly at her for a moment, and then dropped the gun, his eyes sliding downwards. He shook his head.

"No I haven't," He said, and turned and walked away, his arms folded, the skirts of his dress swishing.

----------

_You think you're so good now. She thinks so too – such a good friend, so kind, so _noble_. But you know the truth, don't you? The simple truth?_ He tried to stop his brain from speaking to him so spitefully, but years of spite seemed to have sank into his mind. _If she were to die, how would you find out where the boat was hidden? Hah, you wouldn't, would you? That's the _real_ reason you didn't kill her. _

_You're still a filthy, cheating, lying scumbag, Cutler,_ his mind hissed, _and you always have been. But we can live like that, can't we now?_

Beckett sighed and sat down, massaging his temple, wiping lipstick off of his mouth and wondering how it had come to this. He didn't notice that if he'd been really determined, he could have pointed the gun at her, ordered her to tell him where the boat was, and then shot her.

Hmm... was Beckett a better person then anyone ever suspected? Including himself?

Er. Probably not, I'm afraid to say.

Apart from to his friends.

His... his _friends_...

----------

They were on mainland again. Another visit to the midwife for more advice – and perhaps a prediction as to when the baby would be born. The plan was simple; a few days before the due date, they would row to Mrs Dawson's place, and she would support Elizabeth through her final few days; and, eventually, the birth. Simple. Easy.

Idiot-proof.

As they strolled through the marketplace, Beckett suddenly found himself face to face with a girl selling carrots (_the_ girl selling carrots). She had thick, curly, light brown hair, which was in two long plaits, freckles over her tanned skin, and an oval-shaped face. And something happened to him that had never happened before. Alright, so it was no choir of heavenly angels singing, or a white light from the sky, or anything like that... but his heart still... uhm... fluttered...

"H-hello there," He said, a touch uncertainly. She smiled.

"Hello, sir," She held a basket aloft, "Would you like to buy some carrots?" Beckett opened and closed his mouth, finding himself nodding, but then patted his coat down and realized something.

"Sorry, I don't have any money," He said, apologetically. Which was surprising – Beckett was _never_ apologetic. Ever.

"Oh, will you stop fannying about, Beckett?" Elizabeth came out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, dragging him off. Beckett looked over his shoulder and waved at the carrot girl, smiling at her somewhat diffidently. She smiled and waved back. "What's wrong with you?"

"Uhm. I don't really know. But that girl was very attractive," He said dopily, seeming a touch confused, as if he wasn't sure where he way, or why he was saying what he had just said. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"She wasn't that pretty. She had a very long nose." Elizabeth said tartly.

"It was a _distinguished _nose. Now, be quiet, mmhm?" Beckett nervously began tidying his clothes, a habit that Elizabeth had become used to. He was _always_ fiddling with his clothing – adjusting his cravat, smoothing out nonexistent crinkles and suchlike.

"Hmm," Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow. She wondered what was up with Beckett. Calling a mundanely plain girl attractive? He didn't even call attractive girls attractive. What was wrong with him?

He was wondering the same thing.

----------

All was well. They were going to come back in two months and two weeks – and then, a week later, the baby should be born. So soon! Elizabeth sat and talked everything through with Mrs Dawson – every tiny little detail she could think of. What birth would be like, what she could do to help, anything; and she promised that she would come by for check-ups.

As they walked back to the boat, Beckett suddenly stopped, and pulled on Elizabeth's sleeve.

"It's Carrot Girl!" He said, pointing her out as if it were a really big thing. Elizabeth shot him an odd look, but couldn't help but laugh. She felt so much closer to him, since the gun incident. The girl turned, and smiled at Beckett, who seemed to – gasp – flush a little, and then he wave back. "Bye, Carrot Girl!" he called out. She laughed.

Elizabeth had to practically drag him back to the rowing boat.

----------

What was happening to him? Err... Beckett pulled back on the oars again, deep in thought as he rowed. Elizabeth sat, looking out to sea, playing self-consciously with her stomach – sort of rubbing her hand on it, tracing her fingers around in circles, things like that. Beckett found himself watching mainland Jamaica become smaller and smaller – wondering vaguely why it was easier to row backwards.

And Carrot Girl – that random girl who had been carrying a basket of carrots at the marketplace – who was she? And why did he feel so... odd? He didn't really know how to describe it. It was quite, quite strange.

All he knew – all he'd ever known, about love, marriage and suchlike – was that you found yourself a reasonably attractive, wealthy, polished-up wife, and then that was the end of that. A couple that _actually_ loved each other? Hah. Few and far between, my friend. Few and far between.

And this sort of thing was not meant to happen to people like _him_.

It was like nothing else he'd ever felt before...

----------

Beckett walked into a clearing in the forest one day, to find Elizabeth sobbing, her chin resting on her knees, her arms bound tightly around herself. He stopped short, and looked at her cautiously.

"Elizabeth?" He asked, softly. Her head jerked up to face him, and she looked startled. She quickly scrubbed her cheeks, but another sob bubbled up from somewhere inside her, and more tears began pooling in her eyes. Beckett walked up to her, carefully, and knelt down next to her. "Are you alright?"

"I-I miss him, Cutler," She wept, dabbing at her eyes some more, seeming embarrassed that he was seeing her like this – but still overcome with emotion. "I wish h-h-he could just come home..."

"I..." Beckett wasn't sure what to say, and was even more dumbfounded when she wrapped her arms around one of his, resting a cheek on his shoulder, sniffing. "It'll be alright," He murmured, awkwardly patting her back, his hand curling around her shoulder.

"I know it will... b-but... I wish he could come back s-sooner..." Elizabeth wiped her cheeks again, a blush creeping over her face. "I'm sorry... I don't m-mean to whinge..."

"It's fine, you're not... I mean... probably just the pregnancy, right?" He asked.

"Yes. Yes, it must be," Elizabeth replied, hollowly. She looked at his face, and then at the ground again, hugging his arm tightly for one more second before pulling away with embarrassment.

* * *

**NB: **Beckett?! _Love_?! AAUGH! That was never a part of the original plot! No, ladies and gentlemen, Carrot Girl was never supposed to be a part of this. But then--I don't know--I realized that I couldn't leave Beckett lonely. And I could imagine him suddenly getting all tongue-tied because it's sweet... huh... do you believe in love at first sight? By adding Carrot Girl, have I doomed my story to eternal cheesiness forever?!

Oh, and yes, Beckett and Elizabeth are becoming... gaspeth... friendly! That last snippet there was proof of it! Right?

Next update contains behind-the-scenes, Christmas fiend, bad dreams! Dear diary, does he dote and hope to date me or does he decidedly think I'm dopily difficult? (Beckett really has no idea about women, does he...?)


	30. In Her Dreams

THIRTY: In Her Dreams

Elizabeth awoke with a start again; wide awake and sweating into the sheets of her bed, which were tangled around her limbs. She sat up, cradling her head in her hands – another night, and of course, another nightmare. They just wouldn't go away... Mrs Dawson had explained to her that nightmares about birth a few months before labour happens often; but was this amount abnormal?

Such terrible dreams; crying and screaming, blood, horror, death – her death, her baby's death, Will's death... and that was only if she got to sleep. Bed was so... _uncomfortable_ now, no matter what she did, how she lay.

And... though she loathed to admit it to anyone... she was _scared_. She was scared out of her mind. Looking down at her growing stomach, she wondered how on earth she was going to get this baby out. The baby wasn't even fully grown yet. What would it _be_ like? How would it feel? What if she died?

What if the baby died?

She wished she had someone to trust. Someone to talk to. Someone who would listen and give her advice and understand and... just someone to be there for her. She rolled over in bed, looking through the darkness. She heard a low voice murmuring sleepily, something about carrots.

"Cutler, are you still awake...?"

"Mmmhm. Yes. Well, _now_ I am."

"Do you mind if we talk?"

"...No, I suppose I don't. What's bothering you?" Elizabeth smiled weakly into the darkness, and began to speak, her problems tumbling from her mouth and into the air – seeming to drift away from her.

----------

"Hey, Carrot!" Beckett waved – not really knowing why he was doing so – and smiled at the salesgirl. She looped a strand of hair behind one ear, and walked towards him, plaits bobbing.

"Hello, sir," She said, beaming at him.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he said, trying to look nonchalant, "I mean, not that I was hoping I would... or that I was hoping I... you know... wouldn't... see you again, that is... I mean..." He stammered into silence, wondering why he had just lost all ability to speak. He allowed a small frown to furrow his brow, as he tried to sort out what he was saying.

"I sell my father's vegetables at the market most days," She said, with her little smile. Beckett looked away, and then back at her.

"What's your name?" Beckett blurted – and at the same time, a scruffy-looking man tapped her on the shoulder and started asking about the price of broccoli, or some other such completely _ridiculous_ thing. The Carrot-Girl raised an eyebrow at him with a mischievous smile, and then turned and started talking to the other man.

Beckett pursed his lips.

"I'll be seeing you, Carrot," He said, and then trotted off after Elizabeth.

"Ooh, look at our little _loverboy_," Elizabeth cooed, teasingly.

"_Shhh_!" Beckett hissed, swatting at her shoulder.

"Was that a bit loud?" Elizabeth said, looking over at Carrot Girl. Beckett nodded curtly, looking a touch bewildered too... Elizabeth almost laughed out loud. It was so... strange. "Please, it wasn't _that_ loud."

"Elizabeth. The volume of your voice just made deaf people cry, in _Africa_. That's how loud it was." Beckett huffed.

"Well, it doesn't matter that much, does it? Besides... come on, she's half of your age," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes at him. Beckett seemed affronted.

"I don't know what you mean by that – and how old do you think I am?! That girl looks at least... I don't know... seventeen?" He shot her an offended look at this point, and the very beginning of a _pout_ was on his lips. Good god.

"I know," Elizabeth scoffed, and Beckett just shrugged.

"I'm not _that_ old," He sighed, "Though you're right, there _is_ an age difference..."

"And you say love doesn't exist," She said in a mocking tone. Beckett looked at her, seeming puzzled.

"Yes, I do. It doesn't. I mean... I know." Beckett said, seeming bemused.

_You're a fool, Cutler_, Elizabeth thought, shaking her head at him fondly, _You think you're so smart, but it seems you know... nothing. It almost makes me feel sorry for you... not enough hugs as a child, huh?_

"Let's go see the prices of these blankets, shall we?" Elizabeth said instead. The winter months were coming closer now – it was November. Elizabeth thought back all of those months; it had been the beginning of June when it had all began, and she'd found Cutler Beckett, washed up on the beach.

And she'd shot him... and now, the thought of even pointing a gun near him seemed alien. It's odd how things change; how you grow fond of people you once hated. She shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had the gunshot killed Beckett; she'd still be sad. Lonely. Scared.

Alone.

----------

_"Dear Diary, _

_"I saw the handsome stranger again today. The one with eyes like the sea in summertime, and curly blonde hair and dimples when he smiles – he looks like a little boy, he looks like a full-grown man. Ageless, like a boy king. I've seen him around quite a few times, and I can't stop thinking about him; as I work, as I clean, as I potter about on the farm. _

_"Every day at the market, I search for him, listening for his soft voice, calling me Carrot, with his quiet little laugh and pearly white teeth; and he seems to like me. Me! I'm so plain, so mundane, I've never been kissed by a man before – nobody's ever shown any interest in me, though ma's always trying to pair me off. _

_"I know it's seen as improper, and I barely know him, so I try to keep myself distanced from him; and anyway, he might say the same thing to all of the girls, give them their own little nickname and smile at them every time he sees them as if he hasn't seen them for ages – a bright bite of a smile. _

_"He makes me feel so lovely and special... but I've heard so many stories before about men. Strangers who waltz into town, seduce some poor, naive young woman, quickly have their wicked way with her and then discard her; leaving her with child and alone. _

_"But... I don't think he'd do that to me. He seems so nice, so sincere... and shy. But I've got to stay away from him. I know Pa'll skin any man who makes a move on me without his consent... I've only known him a few months. I don't want to tell him my name, tell him everything about me, so that he knows all about me when I don't know a thing about him. I know it's not proper. _

_"And he's always with this beautiful blonde woman, anyway. She's pregnant, and she's always keeping in close range. I don't know if they're together, but, well... I shouldn't get my hopes up... It's Christmas in a couple of days – I can't wait! I wonder if I'll see him...? _

_"I'm just a lovesick little girl, aren't I? His accent is so upper class, and he always looks knowing; like everything in the world is him and God's little secret. He couldn't possibly like me..."_

Hearing footsteps on the landing, the girl quickly slammed her diary shut, and plunged it underneath her pillow, swallowing. Her father must never find out about this man, this strange man who she had become so friendly with over the past couple of months. Her father was a lovely man; but a touch protective, and he thought with his hands. People would talk. It wasn't right, wasn't proper.

He couldn't possibly like her, anyway.

----------

"Can I have some money?" Beckett asked Elizabeth, feeling like a little child for having to say that to someone. He used to have bags of money; endless amounts, huge piles of gold, and now... nothing. He had absolutely nothing, apart from some stolen clothes and bits and bobs. It was hopeless. He'd _never_ get used to it.

"Why?" Elizabeth demanded, as they walked – very slowly. Every single movement made her feel breathless, nowadays; every single step.

"To buy Christmas presents," Beckett said with a smile, "Only a couple of days to go. And then... a couple of weeks until the birth! _Finally_..."

"Hmm... Christmas _presents_, eh? Plural? But who do you know apart from me? Oh, yes, that vegetable-selling girl..." Elizabeth snickered as Beckett averted his gaze, preferring instead to gaze into the distance.

Over the last few months... Beckett and the one dubbed 'Carrot' had become very friendly. Elizabeth was fascinated at how Beckett acted around her – so different from his usual sneers and long words. He spoke sort of gently, carefully, quietly; nodding and smiling and laughing, occasionally stammering. And she was happy for him, really, she was (even though he didn't seem to notice the way he was acting). But...

Well... she wound herself resenting him a little. Resenting him and his happy little 'love-at-first-sight' bubble with some random vegetable girl (catty? Why, yes). Resenting how he spent his whole life cheating, stealing, lying – and he ended up in love (yes, she'd said it. She was convinced. It _must_ be love) with some girl, and she – whilst doing the right thing all along – ended up with the man _she_ loved gone for ten years.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

"Sure," She sighed, digging into a pocket.

* * *

**NB: **Hmmmmmmm!

Next update contains action, reaction, detraction, CONTRACTION! Can candid Carrot get over Christmas crisis, and can Elizabeth keep cool? (This makes for trouble...)


	31. Christmas Presents

THIRTY-ONE: Christmas Presents

"Merry Christmas, Carrot," He said, placing the small parcel into her hands, letting their fingers touch for a long moment – making her head feel light... if that made any sense. You have to feel it to understand it.

"It's not Christmas today, you numpty," She giggled, looking down at the little parcel as if it were made of solid gold. Beckett just smiled at her, and she looked down at the gift in her hands. It wasn't normal for her, receiving gifts out of her family. Especially from a man. What was it? Her fingers hovered over the string that neatly tied it up.

"But I wont be here on Christmas," Beckett said softly. As Elizabeth had noticed, he tended to talk in this soft voice to Carrot – with a small smile on his face. No, not a sneer, not a smirk; but a real smile. Elizabeth had just about died of shock.

"Then... then thank you," She said to him, her voice equally gentle, and after blinking once, slowly, her eyes not leaving his, she looked downwards – a strand of hair falling and dangling in front of her eyes – and out of the box, she brought out a dazzling, beautiful feather, with a small inkpot.

She looked at it in amazement – as a farmer's girl, she had no need nor money for ink to write with, just sticks of charcoal, scratchy chalk, something rough and hard to use – never real ink. She could simply imagine the quill gliding gracefully over the page, her thoughts and feelings transferring from her head to the paper smoothly, flawlessly. She looked up at him with an astonished smile.

"You seem the poetic type," He said, with a smile. If anything, Beckett was good at reading people.

"I don't even know your name," She sighed, wrapping her hands around her new present, protectively.

"It's... Hunter. Hunter Kelley." Beckett smiled and squeezed her shoulder once, "I should go. Elizabeth'll be waiting. I have to help her with everything, since her husband's away." He gave her a final smile, and then he turned and walked off, towards the blonde woman, who was always keeping an eye on him.

She looked down at the quill, her heart thudding. It was beautiful... but at the same time... well, she knew it was ridiculous...

But she'd been hoping... _absurdly_ hoping... for... a ring. She knew that... he hadn't... shown any interest of _that_ sort yet. But... the way he looked at her... the way he made her feel... she had just wondered, that was all. With a ring, it would all be proper and right, and nobody could ever tell her off for spending time with him – especially not her pa.

She felt embarrassed for even hoping. Stupid.

----------

Elizabeth and Beckett sat around the fire on Christmas eve, smiling and chattering, just informal conversation. It was nice; with the stars twinkling above them and the fire crackling merrily. It brought back a lot of déjà vu – but Elizabeth was certain that she wasn't going to be making any moves of _that_ sort on Beckett any more. She'd had a few more hot flushes, but she'd covered them up. Her and Beckett were... no. Just no.

Not Beckett.

"Did you get a present for your precious Carrot?" She asked him, slyly.

"Yes, I did," Beckett said nonchalantly. Elizabeth had guessed as much, seeing as she'd given him quite a bit of money, none was left now, and her present had been a potato with a smiley face on it. His idea of a joke. Ha, ha, very funny, Beckett. Not.

"And what present was that? A ring and a question, by any chance?" Elizabeth pressed. He shifted on the grass, looking downwards.

"No. Not that." He muttered, resentfully. Now Beckett, he appeared to be in some sort of deep denial about him and Carrot; so, asking her to marry him? It was – yes, no, maybe, probably not, possibly, perhaps...

----------

"Will you stop singing?" Elizabeth said, playfully swatting him. Beckett blinked. It was about a week later, and they were ready to go back to their (well, _her_) shack after another little conversation with the midwife... who had told Elizabeth to come back in another week.

"Sorry... I didn't notice..." He said, seeming a surprised. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Beckett wouldn't stop singing, and they were – yes, you guessed it – love songs. She thought it was great that he was in love and all, but she wished he could be in love a little more in tune.

"Just ask her to marry you already," Elizabeth said, clasping her hands to her chest, as she climbed unsteadily into the rowing boat. They were heading back towards their island now; twelve days before the birth was scheduled. In about eight days, they would come back and the baby would be born. Elizabeth felt so ungainly, her weight thrown off balance by the humongous bulge at her front; but she continued to hold herself as gracefully as she could.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Beckett said with a small frown, climbing into the rowing boat once she had safely sat down, and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him. All that Beckett had ever known about marriage and suchlike was the appropriate and proper way of doing things – the gentle courting followed by the hand in marriage – end of. Now, Beckett – being a successful, hugely rich and not incredibly bad-looking sort of chap – had had his fair share of women fawning after him. But those types of brainless, insert-name-here, mediocre women completely failed to interest him.

In fact, _any_ woman generally failed to interest him, once he'd worked them out. Once he'd watched them all carefully and realized that they were driven by greed, the need for money and gossip and jewellery. Because, of course, it would have been completely wrong for him to marry any sort of peasant girl.

At the time.

"You're an idiot," Elizabeth said, leaning back in the rowing boat, as Beckett pulled on the oars.

----------

As they walked up the beach, Elizabeth suddenly put her hands onto her stomach, blinking. Beckett hovered behind her, stopping his dragging the rowing boat up the beach to face her. Elizabeth still found the time to hide it from him... but he couldn't leave her now, could he? All pregnant and... well, pregnant.

"Just cramp," She said with a tight little smile, "Come on, let's go." They wandered up the beach, and then Elizabeth excused herself and made her way to the shabby little outhouse that they used for their toilet needs. Beckett walked over towards her home, opened the door, walked in, and sat down in the armchair.

There was a pause, when he heard a door slamming, and Elizabeth stumbled into the room, flushing.

"Cutler... there was... it's..." She seemed out of breath, and shook her head, her eyes wide. Beckett stood, looking at her with concern. How was she meant to tell him? She'd gone to the bathroom, to find her underwear stained by thick, bloody stuff; a substance that covers the neck of the womb, which comes out a while before labour. Called the Show. She flinched, standing back, as a numb pain shot through her upper legs.

"What? What is it?" Beckett asked her, walking towards her. Jesus, how did she explain something like this to someone like... well, someone like Beckett? He'd have a heart attack!

"I... think I'm going into labour," Elizabeth said breathlessly. Beckett stared at her, tilting his head slightly. He leaned forwards with a small frown.

"I beg your pardon?"

* * *

**NB: **Heh, I sort of ripped you off. No birth this chapter... sorry. Elizabeth is in a lot of trouble... but not as much as Beckett!

I'm so cruel to my characters. :3

Next update contains stress, unrest, for the best... right? Can canny Cutler cop the cutting contractions? ("What's this for? Is that meant to happen? What do I do now?! Elizabeth? Elizabeth?! _Elizabeeetthhh_!")


	32. Contractions

THIRTY-TWO: Contractions 

Elizabeth was sitting up in bed; her contractions had begun as a dull backache – and now, shooting pain travelled down her thighs as muscles tensed. Beckett seemed completely at a loss; he just chewed on a nail and watched her warily, as if afraid she would explode.

"Should I start rowing you back to Mrs Dawson?" He asked, nervously.

"No!" Elizabeth sat bolt upright, pain making her sentence come out loudly and sharply. "No... what if I give birth on the way? Can't... let that happen..." She wrapped her arms around her large stomach – bulging and huge. This thing was going to be coming out of her. No... she mustn't think of that...

"But she said that giving birth can take ten, twelve hours..." Beckett said.

"What if this one doesn't?! I am _not_ going onto a rowing boat, in labour!" She shook her head and glared at him.

"Are you sure you're going into labour?" He asked, edgily.

"It's _not_ something you can really mistake something else for!" Elizabeth growled at him. Beckett sort of flinched away from her, as if afraid she would bite him. _Oh god, I'm in labour, and who have I got to help me but my worst-enemy turned dithering prat..._

"Mrs Dawson said that contractions happen often in pregnancy... it doesn't mean you're in labour... I mean... it's..." He trailed off as her waters broke. "Uh."

"That generally only happens in birth, Beckett..." Elizabeth gave a small, humourless chuckle, "I'm pretty sure I'm having the baby!" She grabbed his wrist, sitting up, "You have to help me. The contractions've died down now, but I _know_ they'll be back... go to the hot springs. Fill a bucket with hot water – get it up here – and... and..." Elizabeth flopped back onto the bed, sighing. "_Go_!"

Cutler Beckett left at a run.

----------

It seemed to take forever to get there, fill the bucket, and drag it all the way uphill for a long time. When he arrived, Elizabeth was still sat up in bed, her legs apart, her head lolling against the wall behind her, and making sounds like a wounded animal. Beckett put the bucket on the floor next to her, and looked at her blankly.

"Well?!" They both said, at around the same time.

"How am _I_ supposed to know what to do?" Beckett asked her.

"Don't you ever _listen_ to Mrs Dawson?!" Elizabeth asked him, with a glare. Beckett shook his head. "You... you idiot..." Elizabeth sighed.

"Well, I didn't think I'd have to help birth the thing!" Beckett said desolately, "I don't know anything about midwifery! There isn't such thing as midhusbandry!" _And there's a reason for that_, he thought to himself,_ men aren't generally supposed to have to stick their hands up women's _arses

"For god's sake..." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Alright, do what I say..."

For the next six hours, there was nothing much they _could_ do. Elizabeth had a contraction every now and again –they became more frequent by the hour – and Beckett had to basically do whatever she said. He tried to convince her that they needed to row back to mainland, but Elizabeth refused to get on board that small rowing boat.

Her contractions came about every half an hour – though over the hours, they lessened twenty minutes between each one... fifteen... Elizabeth stood up, walked around, ate a light snack, things that Mrs Dawson had said could help during labour. Then she turned and walked up to Beckett, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning on him heavily.

"Elizabeth...?" Beckett asked, uncomfortably.

"You have a memory like a sieve," Elizabeth sighed into his shoulder, "This is a good position to stand in. Relaxing for the contractions and all. Remember, Mrs Dawson showed us?" Oh, yes. One of the most embarrassing things he'd ever had to do in his life... back then. Mrs Dawson had told them that when contractions started, a good way to ease the pain was to lean on your partner and have him massage your back to relieve the pain. It was apparently used quite a lot... between couples, that is.

"Oh," Beckett swallowed, and brought his hands around behind her back, beginning to massage her upper back, carefully – Elizabeth had noticed that he had slender fingers, women's fingers... not that it made any difference. The massage definitely helped, though it was meant to be lower. Hmm.

_Mouse-Beckett's back_, Elizabeth thought tiredly, remembering what had happened to Beckett when he'd thought that her baby was his, and hadn't been too sure what to say or do. At least he was quiet. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself, trying to put her mind at rest, though a large and immovable fear was building up in her chest – this was it. This was the birth. They'd had to light a few candles, because night had fallen... now, it was about eleven at night.

"Are you sure you're in labour?" Beckett asked her, for the second time. She sighed, lifting her chin so that it wasn't resting on his shoulder any more. They'd stood like that for about an hour, and the contractions were happening about every ten minutes now; she knew that they would get much stronger soon.

"Yes. I know that there've been a few false alarms..." She remembered the cramps and the contractions that had happened beforehand. Just false starts; her body beginning preparation. But this time, it must be for real. "It's happening, I'm giving birth," She said quietly.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Beckett asked, trying to sound reassuring.

"Not if I die," Elizabeth sighed and nuzzled into Beckett's shoulder – not something she had _ever_ expected that she would do, or even want to do – as another pain shot through her legs and a dull twinge began in her stomach.

"You're not going to die," Beckett said, swallowing his anxiety. He knew that he had to be brave now – or at least, look like he was. If he started sounding all nervous, Elizabeth would probably be none too reassured. So he had to make absolute sure that he didn't panic; and then, hopefully, _she_ wouldn't panic.

"How am I going to get this baby out of me, Cutler?" Elizabeth whimpered, the pain beginning to ease off again, though she knew it would be back again in about five minutes.

"You'll be fine. Don't be so soft." Beckett looked down at the top of her head, her tousled hair. He found himself hoping he was right.

* * *

**NB: **Hahahahhaha. Tune in next time for Part One of the birth--yup, I certainly am dragging this out. Also, I tried to describe birth as realistically as possible (though I supposed I skimmed some details), and remember it was much harder in those times.

Next update contains glum, fun, for the birth--part one! Determination, destiny, doggedness and danger! Damsel in distress! Damn, can Cutler do it? Does he?! (Mental scarring! Mental scarring! Beckett's pretty sure that this isn't too good for his mental well-being...)


	33. Birth: Part One

THIRTY-THREE: The Miracle of Birth; Part One 

Now, over their time spent with the kindly midwife, Elizabeth and Beckett had picked up a lot of advice – but Beckett was certain that it was nowhere near enough to give birth to a real live baby. But there was no hope of getting Elizabeth off of the island now, she refused to budge; and rowing in the dark was _not_ a good idea, in any case. So Beckett just had to help her get comfortable.

She tried lots of different positions to get herself at ease – she tried sitting, standing, lying, pacing, kneeling, even on all fours; but nothing seemed to help. She ended up on her side, curled up on her rumpled bed, breathing deeply, with hot rags placed across her lower back – a lovely relief from the backaches that shot through her body – and on her thighs. Beckett seemed more unsure then ever of what to do, and whether he really _should_ be doing some things...

Elizabeth – modest Elizabeth – could no longer care less about who saw her legs at the moment. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the baby. Beckett, however, was not so keen on this new development – though he hardly had any choice in the matter apart from to do what Elizabeth said, even if it meant having to do things (and, well, see things) that no gentleman should ever really have to.

"You're doing well, don't worry... it's going to be fine, shush..." Beckett said, putting a wet rag over her forehead, with no idea if she was actually doing well or not. It was, apparently, the sort of thing you had to say. At least she seemed a little bit reassured, which was more then he could say. He was dreading what was coming next – dreading the actual birth.

She'd been contracting for about twelve hours now. Christ! It was hard work! And now, the contractions were stronger and now lasted about a minute each – with only about the same amount of time in between each one. Pain racked through her; her stomach, her thighs, her back, it felt like her muscles were trying to break out of her skin. Sweat rolled down her face, and she was shivering uncontrollably. At one point, she was retching.

Beckett had no idea what to do now. She was now propped up on her bed, pillows and cushions piled up behind her, and the blankets had been pretty much kicked off of the bed. Every now and again, Elizabeth would give a low groan, and in the short break between contractions, she fell into feverish sleep. It was like she was dying of some terrible disease – not giving birth to new life.

Her breathing was ragged and deep, her legs were shaking, and her skirt was tangled and pulled up to her thighs – which added a slight embarrassment to Beckett's mixture of emotions, though Elizabeth didn't seem to notice. The contractions had been going on long into the night; midnight had been and gone, now it was early morning... five or six, to be exact (ish). The sun would be rising soon.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was in a little world of her own. She had lost all sense of time, and was barely registering Beckett's existence – all he was to her was a pair of hands and an encouraging voice in her ear. She was scared out of her mind – scared about what was happening to her body; this natural procedure which she had no control over whatsoever. Her body wasn't hers any more; it was doing what it pleased, and she had no way to stop it. She didn't know what to do.

"I'm going to burst," She moaned into her pillow. "It's going to rip me apart..."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Beckett said as indifferently as he could, though worry was gnawing at his insides, putting a cool hand to her forehead. She blinked and looked up at him; he gave a slight smile, and she tried to smile back.

"Please... if I die, will you stay on the island, and wait for Will? Tell him what happened, if I die?" She asked him softly, as another contraction started – she arched her back and gave a small cry, though it was nothing like the loud screams and sobbing that Beckett had been picturing... thank god.

"Tell him yourself," Beckett said, "When he comes back. He's going to be so proud of you... as long as the baby doesn't inherit his mug," Elizabeth laughed, a rather strained sound, her last bits of control slipping away as her helpless peal of laughter dissolved into a wince.

"Stop it, Cutler... I'm serious..." Elizabeth shook her head, "Does every woman have to go through this?"

"Yes," Beckett said, with absolute certainty in his voice, "In fact, I think you may be getting off lightly. Now stop your whining and pop the little monster out." Elizabeth gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, and looked at him through grateful eyes.

"Thank you," She said softly, and as the contraction ended, her head rolled back and her eyes closed.

After another hour and a half of contractions... the birth started.

----------

The miracle of birth – the beginning of new life. Oh, so airy-fairy, so... so _not true_. Beckett had never imagined birth to be like this – he'd thought... well. Smiles and laughter and then the baby was out with a pop. He wasn't that _sure_. He imagined it hurt, but... well... he was just thankful that he wasn't a woman. He felt a bit helpless through the entire birth, knowing there was no way he could take any of the pain away from Elizabeth.

The birth was... not a terribly nice ordeal. He hadn't been expecting anything like this at all. He'd gone into battles, seen hundreds of men slain, blood and guts was nothing new to him. But... this... this was different. Panting, pushing, cries of fatigue and pain and just wishing it was over.

To her credit, Elizabeth didn't get around to screaming, crying real tears or breaking down and going crazy. She did quite well, actually. But... well... Beckett had had to... uh, yes. He would prefer to never, ever think of those memories ever again. For the rest of his days. Huh. And they say you can only become mentally scarred as a child.

Well, Cutler Beckett begged to differ.

* * *

**NB: **I've only just realized that I'm dragging this on insanely. Don't worry--next chapter, and all shall be revealed!

Next update contains baby blue (literally), chewy chew, for the birth--part two! Positively precarious, precise but powerless, pain and pain and pain and pain, POVs and, err, pudding... (_Beckett stared at it - what was he meant to do? This baby was a freak!_)


	34. Birth: Part Two

THIRTY-FOUR: The Miracle of Birth; Part Two

_What... what's happening? What was he meant to do? Elizabeth seemed to have forgotten about him. Hmm, uhh, so. Right. The baby was coming. Coming, via... well, that is to say, out of her... _

_Uhhm... _

_This was no time for hesitating. He had to – um – get this baby. This was not going to be that... well... proper. But he supposed he had to forget all about 'proper' now. Okay. Right. Well, time to, time to, uhh... stop thinking! He didn't have time to _think_! He just had to get this baby out of her! He was her last hope! _

_Hot, wet rags weren't going to birth the baby by themselves. He had to be there. He had to get this baby out himself. Yes. Stop. Stop thinking. Don't think, just... just _do_. It's head was... there was... it's head... coming... out of... uhh... _

_Goodness. He felt quite faint. _

_Stop, stop! Just stop with the thinking already, will you?! Right. Right... he had to do this. With every contraction, the head came closer. It was coming. Elizabeth was giving birth. To... to... a baby. A real, live baby. A little person, that she had made, that was half her and half Will. _

_No! For god's sake, just stop dithering! The head's coming! Ignore everything – Elizabeth's short cry of pain, the panting, the indecency, even your own name. Just forget everything. Get the baby out. That was his _job_ now. _

_So... time to... well, that's to say... uhh..._

----------

_So. The pain was... the pain was bad. It sort of travelled through her... legs, stomach, back, bum, everywhere ached and strained. Like cramp, but so much worse – really, really, _really _bad cramp. Her muscles all pushed and pulled painfully, all by themselves; it was scary. She sort of drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she could tell Beckett was there, and other times he simply vanished from her mind. _

_But at least... well... her imagination had been running riot, and to be honest, it wasn't – well, as bad as she thought. It was... bearable. For which she was thankful. But it was still pretty damn horrible. She was nearing the end of her contractions now – soon, it would all be over. _

_At long last. _

_Things happened around her, and sometimes she noticed, and other times she didn't. It was like things around her went normally for a bit – then blurred away into nothingness – and then something else – and more blurring... she felt a hand holding hers, wet rags being changed, and a voice muttering. In between these things, everything melded together. She wasn't sure what was happening now. _

_A sharp pain suddenly blossomed up out of nowhere – she gave a small cry of pain, still breathing deeply, as the contraction worsened. The pain intensified for a moment; and she felt... well, she felt _it_. The baby. It was coming. It's head was coming out. She... she... _

_Suddenly, there was numbness. Like she was detached from what was happening to herself, as if the rest of her body was miles away. It was coming. It was... _

_Head. Shoulders. Two more contractions, and... and... The baby. It was born. It was out. After the head and shoulders, it just seemed to slide out, a slipping, rushing sensation. It was over quickly. She wasn't sure what was happening any more. _

_"Give me my baby," She croaked, trying to lean forwards, and then weakly collapsing back into her pillow. Her eyelids felt heavy. _

_So heavy._

----------

And the outcome of it all was a shell-shocked Beckett, bloody up to his elbows, holding a slimy little human under it's armpits, staring at it, as it hung for a second, seeming lifeless. Then it moved a little. Beckett suddenly noticed a sort of... slimy... something over it's face. He wiped it's face, and the baby opened and closed it's mouth. It had gunge all over it. In its mouth, and nose, and...

Refusing to even think about what he was about to do, he put his mouth over the baby's nose and mouth, and sucked out some horrible, bloody, _mucusy_ substance, spitting it out over the floor and pulling a disgusted face, not wanting to consider what had just been in his mouth. With it's airways free, the baby began wailing. It's first taste of air. _Welcome to life, little one – it's not all it's cracked up to be_, he thought.

Then he noticed the tube connecting it to Elizabeth's... connecting it to Elizabeth. He stared at the baby, and then at the mutant tentacle sticking out of it's stomach. What... what? What was he meant to do? This baby was a freak! There was one final contraction – pulling a face, and cradling the baby in one arm sort of carelessly, he pulled gently on the cord; and out came the... whatever it was.

This horrible slimy thing attached to the otherwise perfectly normal little baby.

"Cut it," Elizabeth suddenly said in a hoarse voice, her sleepy eyes on him, "Cut the cord. I was told... I... Mrs Dawson..." She closed her eyes for a second, before opening them again, reaching out for the baby.

"R-right..." Beckett stammered, whipping a small knife from a countertop and cutting through the cord-thing with a single swipe. The baby seemed unaffected by the cut, to Beckett's relief.

"Give him to me... my baby..." Elizabeth's arms were open, empty, she looked towards Beckett hopelessly. He stepped forwards and gave her the baby.

It looked slimy, poisonous, blue – and smaller then she expected it to be. Pallid and dead. It's skin was sticky and blood streaked, with some weird, white, greasy stuff all over it. Sparse amounts of dark, curly hair stuck to it's head, and it's legs were curled up, the way they had been in the womb. It's big, dark blue eyes seemed short-sighted and almost perfectly round; like two inquisitive marbles. Elizabeth fell back against the pillow, completely exhausted. Within moments, she was asleep, cradling the tiny baby lovingly in her arms.

Beckett gently pulled the little boy out of Elizabeth's grasp, and contemplated the baby for a second. He didn't know about Elizabeth, but to him, it looked like a purple, and fairly deadly pudding.

* * *

**NB: **And the baby is born! Fanfare, everyone! Thanks for reviews, they are lovely.

Next update contains bores and gore, that's what friends are for... Surely sarcastic, scathing scatterbrain doesn't suddenly save grace by acting strangely... sweet?! (_What s strange mix of emotions she could see in Beckett's eyes now..._)


	35. What Friends Are For

THIRTY-FIVE: What Friends are For

While Elizabeth dozed, Beckett got to work, first using a rag and warm water from the bucket to scrub the baby down well, so that all of the horrible stuff was off of it – though it's skin still seemed blotchy and very pink. It's head seemed to be a rather strange shape... and it looked slightly cross-eyed, with puffy eyelids. The hands and feet seemed especially blue, due to lack of circulation; not that Beckett knew this.

And the baby was... it was _tiny_. One of Beckett's hands alone was enough to cover it's entire chest. The baby had stopped it's throaty cry now, and seemed rather contented. Beckett noticed rather long fingernails on the baby... and the baby's hands were clenched, and wouldn't uncurl.

Once it was cleaned and wrapped in a blanket, Beckett finally allowed himself to look at the baby – not as a thing, not as an 'it', but as a baby. A small, defenceless baby; a baby that would grow into a real person and go out into the world with feelings and opinions and make a difference to the lives of so many people... Beckett blinked, trying to put a stop to the tide of emotions and fanciful thoughts that were coasting through him.

It's not... it's not like it was _his_ baby or anything...

Ha. Those were the days.

"It's good to have another man on the island," Beckett said to the baby. In reply, William James Weatherby Turner III did it's first ever dump in Beckett's arms. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. That's... that's just lovely." Beckett sighed.

----------

Elizabeth woke to faint murmurings, and opened her eyes, rubbing her head, blinking a couple of times. She noticed Beckett sitting cross-legged on the armchair that he had pretty much claimed as his own, holding her little baby in his arms, talking to him softly. She couldn't hear much of what he was saying.

"Cutler?" Elizabeth said sleepily, rubbing one of her eyes. She blinked, and noticed how she was all tucked up in bed, with a cool wet rag over her forehead and her shoes off. She paled, realizing how Beckett must have seen her... seen her... well.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Beckett said softly, rubbing the baby's cheek with one finger, "I think this one's going to be a tough guy. Look at these little muscles." Beckett squeezed the baby's arm... gently. The baby smacked his lips in response, seeming happy enough. Elizabeth got out of bed and walked to the armchair, reaching for the baby. Wordlessly, Beckett handed newborn infant over.

"William," She sighed lovingly, kissing the baby's forehead.

"I still think you should name him Cutter..." Beckett said, examining a fingernail. Elizabeth laughed exhaustedly, and shook her head at him. "And... how did you... know it was going to be a boy?"

"I wanted a boy. Really, really wanted a boy." She smiled and cradled the baby, looking down into his blue eyes.

"Hmm. Luck, then." Beckett said, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes.

"Beckett... I..." She looked up at him, and when Beckett opened his eyes, he saw a kindness – an affection in her eyes, stronger then he had seen directed at him before. As if she saw him as a true friend. "Thank you. Thank you so much for helping me give birth, for helping me through all of it, and then... cleaning the baby up afterwards, for... cleaning _me_ up afterwards..." She blushed at the end.

"Don't mention it," Beckett said serenely, "Truly. Don't mention it. Ever. Again. I do _not_ want to be reminded." Elizabeth beamed at him, and then sat down on her bed, rocking the tiny baby in her arms. She kissed the top of William's head, stroking his fine, soft dark hair.

She loved him. She barely knew him, but she loved him – _that_ she knew. This tiny little person, so vulnerable and so exquisite, so very beautiful. The most beautiful person in the world. She thought she had loved Will – Will II, her husband Will – but this was different. The love she had for her baby was so strong, so absolute, that nothing could ever stop it.

She loved this baby so much it scared her. She would do _anything_ for him. She would die – she would kill. She would commit terrible sins for her child. All sense of right and wrong was gone now; 'right' was whatever her baby needed, 'wrong' was anything that stood between her and her baby. That was it. New rules.

Nothing could have prepared her for the emotions crashing through her right now. It was chaotic – like every single emotion she had ever felt and more, storming out. She had so much to learn; so much to discover. She felt exhilarated, excited, elated – but at the same time, so afraid. Afraid that she would do it wrong. Afraid that this tiny life would be snatched away from her.

No. She couldn't let that happen. Not ever.

"I think _Wiiilliaam_ is hungry," Beckett said, and Elizabeth came out of her thoughts, realizing that she had been lost in her baby's eyes – that Beckett had stood up and come around to her side, their shoulders brushing, and was peering at the baby. What s strange mix of emotions she could see in Beckett's eyes now...

An odd look that she couldn't quite figure out flickered over his face as she pulled the baby close to her, before his face went back to it's usual expressionless state. Vaguely, Elizabeth wondered what was happening in his head.

Elizabeth sat back down on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, as William began grizzling; as if understanding what Beckett had said, and agreeing whole-heartedly with him. Elizabeth laughed and touched Will's nose – and then looked up at Beckett, again, catching that expression on his face.

"Bye, Beckett," She said, hinting heavily. She wanted to be alone with William.

"Oh... uh... bye," Beckett got to his feet hastily, and after one last look at the little baby, he walked to the door and pushed it open, stepping out into the cold, crisp winter morning – leaving behind the warm, homely atmosphere that he somehow wished he could stay in. But that was personal – only for Elizabeth and William. It was family.

He had no place in it.

----------

It wasn't that... he was _jealous_. It couldn't be. Because he _wasn't_. Of what? A tiny little bag of poop? As if. Huh. As he strode across the hard ground, his breath showing in front of him, his fingers white in the cold, he shook his head, sighing. He looked at his hands, there was still some blood on his sleeves, and under his nails.

He'd... he'd _birthed_ that baby. William. He'd been the one to bring it into the world, the one who had cleaned it and changed it and talked to it while Elizabeth dropped into feverish sleep. _Then_ he had done Elizabeth too – cleaning her and changing the sheets on the bed and scrubbing the floor while he was at it. Then he'd washed her down, tucked her in, plumped up the pillows as she lay, practically unconscious. He'd worked himself pretty hard – by _his_ standards, anyway.

And then for a couple of blissful hours he had just talked to William, who seemed to listen so intently – his large, marble-like eyes latched onto his, seeming to be paying attention raptly. And... he... well... damn it, he'd near enough fallen in _love_ with the bloody thing! And all of this had made him realize something...

Elizabeth and him... they were... they were friends. In fact, they were very good friends; close friends. She was the closest friend he'd ever had, which was just ridiculous. At one point, she'd held a revolver to his throat, on the day after he had ruined her wedding day by arresting her. That was _not_ how a usual friendship went.

And William. Little William Junior. The tiny, blue-eyed baby who had suddenly captured him, captured his heart – out of nowhere. He had been certain that he wouldn't even like the baby... but he had been wrong. It was like William was his own son – and he'd never forget the feeling of William gripping his thumb with one hand; gripping tightly. The baby's entire palm had been about the same width as his thumb. No, he would never forget.

He folded his arms and looked out at the ocean. His expression was as unfathomable as ever.

* * *

**NB:** Oh dear. The birth has been described as 'sick' by a reviewer... uhm, sorry. I guess I'll up the rating to T for that one. I didn't go into terrible detail about it... only three chapters of it. Hmmm. Well, that's life, grasshoppers--literally. That is life. The rest of the reviews seemed to be pretty positive, so thanks! I wasn't too sure about the birth scene. ;)

Next update contains emotions up, emotions down, emotions round and round... Hideous hormonal headlock, hung-up Elizabeth hates horrible harshness! (_This was going to be too hard for her – too much to bear... what would she do?_)


	36. Change

THIRTY-SIX: Change

Once Elizabeth had finished nursing the baby, talking softly to little William, she wrapped him up warm and cradled him to her chest, pulling her dress back up, fixing her underclothes, the baby held tightly. William began to whimper as she clutched him tightly, and she quickly loosened her grip, panic-stricken – and nearly dropped him. William gave another whimper, and frustration began to fill her up, a sense of hopelessness. She even felt close to tears. This was normal, especially when your partner wasn't around to help... but it struck Elizabeth very quickly, and she didn't _know_ that it was normal...

She suddenly – _very_ suddenly – felt that she was a terrible mother. This was going to be too hard for her – too much to bear. She knew she could never allow any harm to come to this baby, and if she carried on messing up like this... what would she do? Her breasts were sore from the feeding, and William had taken a long time to latch on.

Holding the tiny baby carefully, she stood up and walked around the room, supporting William's floppy little body carefully, deathly scared that she would drop him – kill him. She walked to the door, pushed it open, and walked into the cold air outside. William made a soft sound, but then calmed, seeming to get used to the air. She glanced up, and saw Beckett; he was sitting on a small rocky outcrop, facing the horizon, side-on to her... the steep climb they had gone up when they'd gone to see if there was any civilization on the island, he was on the top of the first bit.

"Beckett," She called out, though not too loudly. He looked down, acknowledging her, but did not respond apart from that. He regarded her warily for a moment, but made no move to come down. "Beckett? Are you alright?"

He muttered something that was too quiet for her to hear, and then jumped down the few feet of rock he had been up, turning to look at her. She noticed how tired he looked – realizing that he must have been up all night. He walked up to her and looked to her expectantly, as if waiting for her to speak.

"I... I can't hold the baby right," She said, turning the baby over in her arms. There was an almost desperate look in her eyes. "I'm terrible at being a mother... I can't... I can't _do_ it..."

"You can call me Cutler," He suddenly said, abruptly flickering into life again. He stepped forwards and looked at little William in her arms. "He seems alright. What's the problem?" He asked her.

"I just... it doesn't _look_ right..." She whimpered. Beckett raised an eyebrow at her, then looked down to the baby.

"You're fine, aren't you, Junior?" he said, poking the baby in the stomach. Elizabeth stepped away from him, shooting him a scandalized look, but the baby simply gave a small yip, seeming happy enough, and she looked downwards, shocked. She wasn't sure what to say.

"His name's not Junior, it's William," She said dumbly.

"Yes. William _Junior_," Beckett said. He smiled at the baby, tapping it's forehead. The baby seemed contented, and just blinked at him.

"Why are you so natural with him?" Elizabeth suddenly asked him, "Have you had a baby before or something?" She stared at him, hopeless, and Beckett seemed confused. He shook his head.

"You don't have to worry so, Elizabeth," He said gently, "Poking the baby isn't going to kill it. In fact, Junior here seems to like it."

_It's not fair,_ she thought, looking down at William. She loved her baby so much – so much is hurt. As for Beckett... well, he couldn't possibly care for her child in the same way she did.

"Your baby loves you, Elizabeth," Beckett said in a soft voice, as if reading her mind. "Give it time."

Elizabeth looked downwards, trying not to let a tear spill from her eyes. Her emotions were in even more turmoil, even now that the baby was born. She realized that Beckett could – well, probably _would_ – be seen as a father figure to the baby... and as she looked at him, she just wondered about him. What he'd done had been – well... like what a true friend would do.

And she'd never thought of Beckett like that before.

----------

A baby changes _everything_.

----------

Later on that day, they had paid a visit to Mrs Dawson's home – rowing there had been painstaking for Elizabeth, clutching her baby to her, making sure Will III had no chance of falling overboard, or out of her arms. And as they'd walked through the market, Beckett had started his usual searching, and Elizabeth had grabbed his arm and dragged him off, telling him that there was no time for Carrot Girl now.

They arrived at the midwife's home, and she took one look at Beckett, Elizabeth and the baby, and said, "The baby came early, didn't it?" She'd praised them on the good job they did on birthing the baby, and she'd given William a quick examination, which came up with one healthy baby, good to go.

And now, after reluctantly handing the baby over to Beckett, Elizabeth was sitting across the table from Mrs Dawson, who was talking to her kindly, with her compassionate smile – and she explained everything, the emotions, and how everything was going to be alright. And then she had looked over to Beckett, at the other side of the room, rocking the baby in his arms.

"Maybe you'll grow up to be a soldier, or a sailor," Beckett said, holding one of the baby's minute hands in his own, "But never become a pirate. They are the stinking scourge of the world, Junior," He said wisely. William appeared to be asleep.

"I noticed that the baby's hair is dark," Mrs Dawson said, looking away from Beckett. Elizabeth found herself flushing, realizing where this was leading. Beckett was blonde. She was blonde. And the baby had dark hair...

"Alright, me and him... we aren't together," Elizabeth admitted, looking down at the table, "But... we're very good friends. I don't think I could have done this without him..." She didn't want Beckett hearing, so was talking very quietly now, "I just know that it's seen as improper for a man and woman to travel together, if they're not... you know... married," She sighed and looked downwards. "My husband's away, at sea..."

"Does he know you're pregnant?" Mrs Dawson asked.

"No," Elizabeth sighed, "Not for sure." Mrs Dawson smiled comfortingly, patting her hand.

"It'll be alright. And I can just tell that that young man will make a very good father, some day..." She said, looking back towards Beckett. Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea.

"_Him_? A good father? You have got to be kidding!" She exclaimed. Beckett looked at her then – he shot her a really hurt look. Elizabeth looked down at the floor again, her blush getting even worse. Her and her big mouth...

"Hmm! Well, we don't need _her_, do we, Junior?" Beckett said snootily to the baby, "Us boys have got to stick together!"

Elizabeth looked up, into forgiving eyes – and smiled weakly. She never would have associated 'forgiving eyes' with Cutler Beckett at another time, but that seemed so long ago now... a million years ago, a lifetime ago.

* * *

**NB:** Gasp! The friendliness! But, of course, something has to ruin it, as always. You'll see. Oh, and anonymous reviewer whose name I forget (I think it began with a 'c' and had a 'z' in it, heh), don't worry about your review. It was honest, and birth can be like that, and I'm not offended or anything..

Also, damnit, the hints below--talk about giving a lot away! Don't worry, it'll leave you hanging... xD

Next update contains stress, mess, perhaps a death? (oops, I just dropped a massive hint) Fast-possibly-fatal, fierce fever leaves our fiesty female fearing for future, following out family faith... (_Whatever he'd caught, it wasn't good. It took a turn for the worse in a matter of days..._)


	37. Red Hot Fever

THIRTY-SEVEN: Red Hot Fever

They stayed at Mrs Dawson's home for hours... but it was worth it. Elizabeth was so thankful, she was nearly in tears. She'd been feeling very tearful since the birth. She had no idea what she would do without her. How to hold the baby, dress the baby, change the baby, clean the baby, feed the baby, and, well – _everything_. And on the journey back to their island, the back of the rowing boat was stuffed with extra supplies; the parts to make a crib, soft blankets and lambskin, a tin bath full of toys, cloth nappies...

Elizabeth noticed Beckett pausing for a moment before getting into the boat, and he suddenly looked at the horizon, almost wistfully. Elizabeth knew that look in his eyes; a sailor, too long deprived of the sea had nearly the exact same. A man deprived of his freedom.

"Are you ever going to let me leave, Elizabeth?" He asked her. She didn't know what to say. He didn't wait for an answer, just climbed into the boat and started rowing.

----------

It was a couple of weeks after that that Beckett started coughing. He also quietened a lot, and spent long lengths of time staring meekly down at his feet. He must've caught something – probably the grippe – when they went to mainland, everyone agreed, when they looked back at it. Whatever he'd caught, it wasn't good. It took a turn for the worse in a matter of days.

Elizabeth kept him separate from the baby, and Beckett agreed on this – he cleared out one of the rooms in the upstairs of the mill, a filthy and stained room made of stone, cleaned out an old bed that he'd found in there, and decided that he would lie down on there. _Just a little chill_, he'd said to her convincingly...

Poor, stupid Beckett...

He'd just finished nailing the crib together – after much hammering, hard work, and – it has to be said – swearing, he had finally managed to piece it together, and Elizabeth couldn't have been more delighted. Then, suddenly, his coughs had gotten worse – deep and whooping, right from his chest, making him sound hollow and dead. Elizabeth started worrying then.

In the following few days, Elizabeth had had the baby to take care of – and Cutler Beckett too. One day, his body seemed to simply give up; it buckled underneath him, and he could do little else but crawl into bed and stay there. She put cool rags on his forehead to try and soothe his fevers, but it didn't work. She made him soup out of blackberry roots, but anything she fed him he wouldn't swallow, and any time she made him swallow he started gagging.

Then, his consciousness was pretty much gone – he was still awake, but only just. She'd noticed him shivering, and wrapped a thick blanket around him; and then realized that his temperature was skyrocketing, and she had no idea what to do. Even getting him to drink became a problem; and he was dehydrated... all of his water was being sweated out... and she couldn't go and get a doctor...

It seemed to go in a downwards spiral – it was hopeless. Completely hopeless. Then William would begin his bawling downstairs, and she would have to rush down, clean her hands, and feed the baby; her tender breasts were sore and swollen, yet to toughen up. With every gulp William took, Elizabeth felt drained, and then the baby would drift back to sleep.

That's all the baby was at the moment... a sleeping, drinking, greedy machine; a personality yet to develop. Then she rushed back upstairs to find Beckett in a fitful sleep, muttering things under his breath, calling her 'Gracie' and telling her that he didn't mean what he said – that he didn't mean to make her cry...

"Cutler... wake up, don't die on me now," She said to him, but it made no difference. It wasn't like the movies. Telling him that she needed him didn't make him suddenly snap awake. He carried on talking, his eyes glazed, as if he couldn't see her.

"It was a stupid idea... but damn it, Johnson, he wasn't meant to die..." He mumbled, his eyes rolling back into his head, his teeth clattering as he shivered violently; another symptom that had started up. Elizabeth didn't know what to do. There seemed to be no way to get him better. She didn't even know what he had...

Life had never been so stressful; everything was coming on top of her. Her baby seemed to be always crying, and Beckett's life hung in the balance... it wasn't fair. One night, she heard stumbling steps on the floor above her, and she was up like a shot, dashing upstairs. She'd found Beckett – ungainly and seeming lost, looking at her as if wondering what he was doing there.

"Camphor, turpentine and lard," He said to her, "I've been thinking... th-those are..." He opened and closed his mouth, and then seemed to forget what he was saying.

"Those are what?" She asked him, grabbing him by the shoulders and guiding him back to the creaky bed, "What, Beckett?!" She shook him, and he seemed dazed, his eyes sliding in and out of focus.

"Good for chest," He mumbled, "Heard once... from Nurse Henderson... when I had... something. I don't know..."

"Camphor, turpentine and lard," Elizabeth repeated, wondering if she had all of those things. She had to have them... she must. "You rest now," She said to him, sternly. He looked at her from the bed, seeming to not recognize her. Then he snapped out of his feverish state again, momentarily.

"Gingerroot for fever," He said, furrowing his brow, and then he seemed to slide downwards, and began coughing again, coughs that rattled from deep inside.

"Cutler?" Elizabeth asked from the door.

"Martin, come back here, you forgot your food," He was muttering, his sane self seemed to have slid away yet again. Elizabeth hovered at the door nervously for a moment, as – with a small moan – Beckett slipped back into a fitful sleep.

----------

"Eat it... _eat_, you fool!" Elizabeth was almost crying in frustration as she tried to force the food into Beckett. Painstakingly, she had gathered up the ingredients, she'd searched all over the island for the ginger... and now he wouldn't eat it... he would barely open his eyes.

William began crying again, just below her. And Elizabeth was filled with a desperate sense of hopelessness.

* * *

**NB:** Uh-oh. Karma? Hmmmmmm... I had lots of people asking me who I might be killing off--not Elizabeth or William, of course, it's not canon! You see them at the end of the movie! And someone suggested Carrot Girl too... that would've been sad. Now I shall do the cliffhanger dance. Big fish, little fish, cardboard box...

Next update contains stress, mess, perhaps a death? Desperation, depression, devotion, destitution, deprivation, dourness, deceiving, daffodils, death...? (_A single daffodil..._)


	38. Daffodils

THIRTY-EIGHT: Daffodils

"Don't die on me, Cutler," She said one night, sitting beside his bed, trying yet again to get him to eat the medicine. He had – very slowly – started to take some. But she wasn't sure if he was eating enough. Soon enough, it had been her turn for a visit down to the hot springs, and she'd made him tea out of blackberry roots, and put hot, wet rags to his head... which wasn't so dissimilar to what he'd done for her when she lay in labour.

She didn't know how she would live with herself if Beckett died under her care, after all he had done. She sighed. No... she couldn't let it happen. She knew that she and Beckett had started off far from close, but... but... she didn't really know how to put it. But she cared for him like a friend. A real friend. Time and time again, she made him eat... and eventually... very eventually... Well. One day, he suddenly sat up, and looked at her.

"Where've you been, Elizabeth?" He asked her in an odd voice, before falling back down onto the bed, seeming exhausted by that single sentence. Elizabeth could have wept with joy. He was talking again. He would be okay... he _must_, now that he'd spoken. Perhaps his medicine was working. He'd be fine... she could just feel it.

----------

Now... with Elizabeth and Beckett's friendship, there was always the suspicion – never in each other, but in themselves. Like Beckett telling himself that he hadn't shot Elizabeth because he needed her to tell him where the boat was. And the same was happening to Elizabeth... perhaps she had simply been worried about Beckett's death because then she'd have nobody to row her back to land. Perhaps she wasn't as kind as she thought; that there was some ulterior motive that she was subconsciously following.

Well... what do _you_ think?

----------

A few days later, Beckett had stopped shivering. A couple of days after that, and he was sitting up in bed, eating. And then... then he was out of bed, walking around; still coughing from time to time, but what mattered was that he was better. Elizabeth was so relieved, she felt quite faint. Really.

"Never be ill again," She said to him, gripping his shoulder. He met her gaze for a moment... then rolled his eyes.

"Save me the pleasantries... I need to go and take a bath," He said, "I stink."

_Beckett's back,_ she thought, looking down at the ground with a watery smile – a tear of happiness spilling down over one cheek. She wiped it quickly away. _It must be the stress of pregnancy and birth, _she assured herself, _making me feel so strange_.

----------

It was a few days after that now, and Elizabeth was still glad that Beckett was better. Mind you... sometimes, it felt like she had _two_ babies to take care of, not just one. She frowned at him.

"Don't be childish, Cutler, you know what the doctor said about cod-liver oil," She said, pushing the jar forwards.

"Elizabeth, I well and truly would rather have the grippe then swallow any of that disgusting stuff," Beckett said stubbornly. Elizabeth, determined to get Beckett better, jammed a spoon into the jar and held it to Beckett's face. He leaned backwards away from it, like a toddler trying to evade eating his greens.

"Open!" She ordered, and reluctantly, throwing her a filthy look, he opened his mouth, and Elizabeth shoved the food into his mouth. Really, it was like spoon-feeding a three-year-old. "Now swallow!" Beckett scowled at her.

"This reminds me of my childhood," He muttered darkly. Elizabeth just laughed. Even Beckett had to smile.

----------

As friendly as he seemed... he had ambitions, did Cutler Beckett. He didn't want to stay stuck on this island forever. From time to time, he found himself forgetting his concealed motives, his sly games, but not for long. He'd search the island from top to bottom, looking for the boat, though not as much recently.

But the baby was born. Elizabeth didn't need him any more.

She was a friend, really, she was. He admired her, even _liked_ her... but... he had to get out of here. Re-join the navy, begin work under a new identity, climb his way to the top. If he did it before, he could do it again. And he had to manage to do it before he... well, you know, went senile and died of extreme old age. Was she expecting him to stay here forever or something?

She had William Junior now. She didn't need him. So he could go. Right? Right...

Yes. Right.

----------

"Hey, Carrot," He popped up behind her, and she spun around, her skirts swishing, and laughed. It was him again... Hunter Kelley. She was almost certain that she had heard the woman call him something else at one point, but decided it must have been a dream or something. Because this man wouldn't lie to her.

"Hello again, Hunter," She said with a smile. He beamed at her too, and that smile – it was the smile he always gave her. It made her feel special; that dazzling smile, just for her. He beamed at her every day as if he hadn't seen her for years and years.

"I'm sorry it's been a while. Things have been happening, and I got the grippe," He said with a smile, beginning to wind a daffodil around one of her two, thick plaits – entwining it into her hair. A single daffodil...

"It's alright, I'm glad you're better..." She said. He smiled at her.

"Elizabeth's given birth to her baby. A little boy named William, after her husband. It makes me wish I had one too," He said, a small smile curving his lips.

"Makes you wish you had a husband?" She asked. He laughed.

"I like you, Carrot. And I'll find out your real name someday," He said, finishing with the daffodil, twining it around one last strand of hair with a flourish.

"You know I'll have to take the flower out again, Hunter," She sighed. "My father will ask questions. He... he doesn't like things like this. He thinks it's improper. You... wont like my pa when he's angry... He has a bit of a temper," She laughed, fondly, though a touch nervously.

"It's not improper," he looked away from her, at the ground. And she felt like she had said something wrong. She touched his arm, gently and briefly.

"I know," She said, "But my pa... he's... he's like that."

"I have to go," He said, noticing Elizabeth watching him with her hawk-eyes, cradling a curious William Junior, who was looking around the busy marketplace delightedly – the new colours, sounds and smells! "She doesn't like me wandering off."

_I wouldn't either,_ she thought to herself, as the man turned and began walking towards the woman and her dark-haired toddler. _I'd never let you out my sight._

* * *

**NB:** Hahaha! You think I'd kill Beckett off? No, not yet, friends. But hey, at least you realized how much it would suck if he died, eh? Yes, the long list of depressive d-words in the last chapter was a load of cobblers, added for 'teh drama!!111!1!', which is always useful in a story. On a sadder note (ha), there are only four chapters left to go! Whee!

Next update contains stalk, gawk, baby talk! (and not from who you'd expect, either) Dearest 'daddy' doting on darling baby, but devious danger to damage dearest devellish duo? (_"Will you please stop kidnapping my baby?"_)


	39. Love Is

THIRTY-NINE: Love Is...

"Hey, you little bruiser," Beckett said, fondly, to little William, as the baby poked him in the chin with a tiny hand. "You'll have to stop bullying me. It's not nice." He tickled the baby under the chin and William laughed delightedly. Elizabeth stepped out from behind a tree, watching Beckett and William in a small clearing of the forest – Beckett rocking the baby in his arm and chatting to him, showing him leaves and suchlike.

"So that's where you got to," She said, raising an eyebrow. Beckett spun around, as if caught doing something terrible. The baby made a happy sound at the feel of wind in his curly mop of hair. William Junior was about ten weeks old now – and much more reactive. He didn't cry as much, and had more control over his head and body.

"Oh... hello, Elizabeth..." Beckett said, uncertainly.

"Will you please stop kidnapping my baby? I know you love little William, but honestly, I need some time with him too, you know," She said with a smile – over time, she'd managed to get over the blues that sometimes came with birth. Beckett seemed a little embarrassed as he handed the baby over to Elizabeth.

"I was just thinking about the best way to cook it, actually," He said curtly, grinning maliciously at William, who just burbled happily in reply. "Fried or boiled? And how would I kill it?"

"Oh, so you think death by tickles is the perfect punishment, eh?" Elizabeth asked him with a smile. Beckett just shrugged and folded his arms, looking away from her. Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. "I think it's sweet," She said in a teasing tone, pulling on a strand of his curly blonde hair.

"Well, don't," Beckett said, snatching his hair from her grasp, "I have a reputation to protect, you know." He sounded more amused then annoyed, though.

----------

Where Elizabeth was always sure to be gentle and careful with her baby, being William's nurturing mother, Beckett always played with William rather boisterously. When she saw Beckett swinging William up above his head, Elizabeth nearly screamed in horror – but William seemed to be happy, and just the sight of Cutler Beckett crooning over a little baby made her laugh.

He swung the baby down again and in an almost careless motion swung him to the side, flipping the baby over so that he was face-down. Beckett rested William on the crock of his arm in this position and then sat down, turning the baby over again so that he was sitting on his lap.

"I think I can see the old Turner snout developing there," He said in a warning tone, poking William on the nose. "I'm afraid you are going to have one hell of a hooter, Junior."

Elizabeth, over time, found that it was better to not interrupt these moments of bonding. Whenever Beckett realized he was being watched, he sort of lost all interest in the baby, pushed William into her arms and made himself scarce. She smiled and walked back towards her shack, glad that she would have some time to herself. She needed some rest.

How bizarre it was – she never in a million years would have guessed that one day she would trust Cutler Beckett with her baby.

----------

It had been about three months now – and oh, how the baby was growing. William James Weatherby Turner III was a little angel now! The sleepless nights, the constant screaming – the greedy little monster had been taken over now by this new curious young baby, delighted and surprised by everything, peering around at them all through shining eyes.

He gave funny, crooked smiles... oh, and the faces he made! His large eyes would boggle with shock at anything new, his little hands would wave around with glee as Elizabeth sang to him, and he seemed entertained simply by the world around him. He would give joyful chuckles when tickled, and wave his arms and legs in the air, enjoying the sensation.

To be honest, Beckett loved this little baby. Really, really... _loved_ him. He felt like he was the baby's father, not Will – Will hadn't even _met_ William Junior yet. Beckett loved to wave the baby in the air, tickle him and suchlike... though not when anyone was watching.

Well, he didn't want Elizabeth thinking he'd gone soft, did he?

But, bright and early one morning, he stumbled upon a small cave. He glanced into it, cautiously. He'd never seen it before – it was hidden away, right in the corner of the main beach of the island. He didn't like the look of it; all scary and... _all right, _dark. There, he'd said it. Sheesh.

Nevertheless he had a good feeling about this cave. So, step by small step, tentatively, he walked into it; his arms reaching forwards, his eyes blind. He hated it, hated every second. Every few minutes he would decide that perhaps it would be better to turn back now. But he pressed on... and, eventually...

His outstretched fingers came into contact with something. Something small, made of wood, which clattered when he rapped it. A small smile spread over his face.

He'd found the boat, at last. Time to blow this joint, to use modern dialect.

* * *

**NB:** D'awww, Beckett and his baby antics. But... he's found the boat! Uh-oh... he's going to do something stupid, isn't he? ;)

Next update contains tit for tat, take that, snappity snap. Caught! Crooning childminder to completely cease caring? Well, it's certain, isn't it? (_You can't go. I need you. You keep me sane..._)


	40. Poisoned Minds

FORTY: Poisoned Minds

He was just dragging it into the ocean when Elizabeth found him. She stepped out from the forest – and when she saw him, her mouth dropped open... and then she ran forwards, and Beckett looked at her, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. (Nonexistent headlights, of course, seeing as they're not invented.)

"What... what're you doing?!" She exclaimed, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm... I'm leaving. You've kept me trapped on this island for nearly a year now... I mean... I can't stay here. You have your baby now. You don't need me any more." Beckett looked at her helplessly, from his position in the sea.

"You... bastard!" She said slowly. "I can't _believe_ you. I thought we'd made friends. I... I don't expect I'll ever see you again, then... you... you..."

"You have no right to call me that..." Beckett looked at her, his pained expression giving away to one of cold authority, the mask he used to wear all the time – Elizabeth was shocked at the change. He'd gone from her friend Beckett straight back to the old Beckett in less then a minute; like he had simply slipped a masquerade on. Unbelievable. "You were going to keep me here, like a prisoner. Well, I'm going."

Beckett's expression... it was so eerie. It brought the memories flooding back, the old Beckett, evil Beckett, using everyone as pawns, not caring for lives lost, each death just another step on his ladder to success. His soft smiles and jokes seemed to simply vanish on the wind. A cold, harsh mask; covering up the soft side that she thought she had found in him. That she had found in him... right?

Her best friend Cutler... Her worst enemy Beckett. Cutler Beckett. Ack.

"And you're going to leave me here, are you? On my own?" She fumed at him.

"You have William! Were you planning on keeping me tied to your island _forever_?" He snapped in reply.

"I thought you _wanted_ to stay with me... I thought... you're meant to be my friend! You... you _are_ my friend... You _were_..." Elizabeth stared at him hopelessly, "Were you pretending? For the whole time you were here, then? Do you really not care?"

"I... Elizabeth..." Beckett looked uncertain for a moment, the look of icy indifference seeming to slip, for just a moment. "I just... I have to go. I can't stay here."

"Good," Elizabeth spat at him, "I... I _hate_ you. I wish you were dead." She'd made her decision now. She wasn't going to sit here, whining at Beckett about how he was meant to be her friend. _No_. If he wanted to go... then... then _let_ him go. Fine. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

Beckett seemed to be taken aback for a moment, but then regained himself, glaring at her angrily. His pale complexion was flushing a little.

"I hate you too," He snarled, finally – his voice low and venomous. A finger trembled, and he clenched his fists to stop it.

Their entire friendship – it seemed to be... going. It was gone. It simply seemed to unravel at the seams; revealing what was beneath it. It was all crumbling away, going to ruins. Had everything they'd worked to been nothing more then a flimsy facade? A smokescreen? Nothing but filthy, dirty lies...?

Well... no. You just can't do that. You couldn't fake a friendship like this; after all they'd been through... It was real. It must have been. But Beckett and Elizabeth were lost in their own worlds. And as Beckett rowed away from the island, he kept his eyes downcast, his heart hammering. His hands were trembling on the oars as he moved; his emotions were coming out, actually showing on his physical body. That had never happened to him before. He'd been told many times that he was hated.

But... but now it felt different, somehow...

----------

_You can't go_, Elizabeth thought, looking down at the sand, kicking a pile of it over in frustration, tears coming to her eyes again. Damn it, stop crying! She felt hopeless for crying, and that made her want to weep even more. Sitting down on the sand, she rested her chin on her hands.

Thinking the thoughts that she had never said aloud. Never said aloud because – well, she wasn't sure why. Pride, most probably. They'd never been open with each other, her and Beckett... they'd always had those littler doubts, those spots of indecision. She took a deep breath as a tear rolled down her cheek, and irritated, she wiped it away.

_You can't go. I need you. You keep me sane. You're all I had left. I know you. I need you. Don't go... _

It was insane that she was thinking like this. Beckett used to be her worst enemy—a man that she loathed. She could go back to that. Of _course_ she could go back to that. Who needed him? Well, _she_ certainly didn't.

_Don't go..._

----------

When Beckett finally arrived at the port, the morning was in full-swing – he leapt onto the docking, trying to keep himself calm, closing his eyes... time to find the naval office in this place, join the navy. Climb the ranks again. And carry on in his new life, a mirror of his old life – all that mattered was getting rid of those pirates.

It didn't... make him a _bad_ person, wanting to get rid of those pirates, did it? He was, in the only way he knew, trying to do good in the world, after all. But it was also true that a lot of his work he did for personal gain; the high life, the upper-class parties, the money – like an addictive drug. He needed it back, craved it; silk and wine and chandeliers. Surely he could do it.

He took off through the marketplace at a jog... and ran into Carrot Girl. She turned to him with a smile, but he stepped back away from her, not even managing a fake smile; not even managing to pull his lips up. She frowned.

"What's wrong, Hunter?" She asked him. Gah, lies! Hunter Kelley, Cutler Beckett. Elizabeth, Will, William Junior. It was all a tangled mess. He looked at her – no more then a young girl. Had it all been an act? Even he couldn't tell any more. Elizabeth said he loved Carrot, but he said love didn't exist. Had he simply been playing with her all of this time? Had he been faking his feelings without realizing he was faking? Thinking it was real? And what feelings were these, anyway?

Jesus Christ. He wished he could stop asking all of these ludicrous questions. Especially as he didn't have any answers, and knew it. He coughed uncomfortably, shifting, before finally looking up at her.

"I have to go," He blurted, looking her in the eye. "I have to go now. I don't think I'll be back."

"You mean... ever?" She asked him, her worried expression crumbling into one of deep sadness... Beckett gave the slightest flinch, wishing he hadn't bumped into her. Wishing he could have just left.

"Yes... so... goodbye," He said, stepping back away from her. Just down the road, there was the recruiting office. There, he could join the navy.

"W-wait..." The girl stepped forwards, seeing a look on Beckett's face; like he wasn't sure. Beckett hating being uncertain; but that was a feeling that was coursing through him now. And then... he turned and left quickly, across the marketplace, vanishing into the crowd, into the haze. The girl curled her hands in the air, wishing she had had the chance to at least tell him her name. So he could find her again. Maybe. Someday.

She didn't know where he was going. She barely knew who he was. But she felt like crying, and she didn't know why...

----------

Alright. He'd seemed fit enough, and he said he'd sailed before. No other perfect place then the navy – he just had to sign the parchment, take the coin as his first salary, and then he'd be assigned a uniform, a squadron, and he'd be swept away into the official world of the navy. Doing everything he knew. Doing everything that he had ever known.

"Ain't he just the spitting image of old Cutler Beckett?" Snickered a naval lieutenant, nudging his friend. The other naval officer examined him for a moment, and Beckett looked downwards, averting his gaze. Well, at least he was remembered...

"Naw," He scoffed, "Lord Beckett had a fatter face."

Well! Wasn't that just charming! Beckett held the quill steady in his hands, and leaned down towards the parchment, ready to sign – _Hunter Kelley_. Just like that. And then he'd be a navy officer, and he would leave this place and never come back. He'd probably tell them where Elizabeth lived too, for extra brownie points; promotions and suchlike.

Once you were sucked into a world where promotions were your life, and nothing else mattered, you would sell your own _mother_ to get ahead... so your friends were hardly anything. The quill was an inch from the paper, and he paused.

_Do it. Sign. Sign it now,_ the voice in his head said, _Do it! Sign it and join the navy. Do it, do it, do it..._

* * *

**NB:** Very angsty, was this chapter. Think you know Beckett? Two chapters to go...

Next update contains decisions, deicisions, decisions...


	41. Judgement Day

FORTY-ONE: Judgement Day

A basket lay on the flagstone ground of the market place. There was some straw next to it. Tipping out of the basket was some broccoli, cauliflower, and... carrots. It looked like it had been dropped in a hurry. A short distance away, a girl walked, alone, her head pointed downwards. A piece of hair – a part of her fringe that simply always seemed to be escaping from her plaits – was hanging down over her face.

He was gone now. The handsome stranger that had swept her off of her feet... well, he'd never gotten around to that, had he? She'd just... she'd just _thought_... oh, it was hard to tell. The way he looked at her, she'd thought there was something there, something more. But she must have been wrong.

She supposed she would end up marrying the pig-farmer's son down the lane, then. He was the closest man to her, and his parents were all set for a marriage to the quiet, bookish, but unfortunately plain girl who lived on the farm next door. She sighed, fiddling her fingers, unable to imagine life with the pig-farmer's boy, for some reason. She knew that if she was married to him for fifty years, she would never feel the same for him as she had for the man she had known for only months... nearly a year now.

_Stop it. Stop all of this,_ she thought angrily, blushing slightly, _He doesn't matter. You don't even know him. How could you think you love him?_ She was trying to convince herself, but it wasn't working. She shook the thoughts out of her head, and folded her arms.

All around her, people chattered and walked about on their own business, none of them seeming to notice her. She was in the most crowded place in the village... yet she had never felt so alone. She sighed and thought about the beautiful quill and ink pot that he'd bought her. Huh – she should probably throw them out. Stop the memories from flooding back.

"Hey, excuse me... I'm looking for... Carrot!" The voice rang out across the market, and she spun around. A surprised expression broke out over her face, briefly, wondering, just wondering...

"Hunter..." She said, as he ran up to her. Before she could go on, he put his arms on her shoulders, and then... he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her firmly and kissed her, on the mouth – pressing his lips to hers, soft and sweet, a perfect moment, her first kiss. She wished she could stay there forever; her stomach was trembling and her eyes closed momentarily, but he pulled away quickly. Then he looked into her eyes, looping that bothersome fringe of hers behind one of her ears, keeping her in his arms.

"What's your name?" He asked her.

"I'm Rachael. Rachael Kline," She said breathlessly, still stunned. He'd kissed her. _Kissed_ her...

"Well, Rachael Kline, you run home right now and tell your pa that you are going to be my bride," He said to her, speaking into her ear, their cheeks brushing against each other slightly. "I've just realized. I want to be with you. Forever and for always..."

"Hunter... I..." Rachael couldn't go on, and she threw her arms around his neck.

----------

As she clasped him around the neck, he wrapped his arms around to her back, and they hugged... but he pulled out a few seconds later. Rachael looked flushed; she looked alive. She tucked some hair behind one ear, looking down at the ground.

"I... I didn't think you liked me," She mumbled, "I mean... I'm so plain..."

"Plain?" Beckett smiled and kissed her on the forehead, "Carrot, you're... you're beautiful." She looked to him, feeling like crying with the happiness that was filling her up. But she wasn't the crying type. So she was near enough to bursting.

"I'll get you a ring and everything. I'll go meet your pa. I'll sort everything, don't you worry," Beckett looked a little dizzy, like he was fighting some inbuilt instinct, "But first, wait. Please, just another day. There's... something I need to do," He looked at her seriously, into her dark green eyes.

"I'd wait a hundred days," She whispered to him. He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her on the forehead for the second time – and then left the marketplace at a run.

What he had just done defied every single atom of his personality. The voice in his head – a voice, he realized, that sounded suspiciously like his father – was giving him a sound telling off, telling him he was mad for barging out of the cramped office, mad for not signing his name down, mad for telling the navy officials he 'had to go'. What he was doing now felt completely and utterly wrong, in every sense of the word, on so many levels.

And god, he loved it.

----------

Elizabeth sat on her bed, cradling William, who was dozing off now. His long-lashed eyes fluttered shut, and he started breathing steadily. Elizabeth smiled weakly and kissed him on a cheek as soft as swansdown, and then walked over to the cot – laying him down on the lambskin inside, and covering him with a blanket. She remembered the day Beckett had built the cot with a pang.

_"Are you ever going to get this finished?" She'd joked, hugging little William close to her as he grumbled around, attempting to fix it together. _

_"Give me time, woman!" Beckett complained, and then swore as another part of the crib collapsed. Not exactly a born carpenter, was Beckett. The baby burbled happily, sucking on a hand. _

_"Please, don't use language like that in front of the baby," Elizabeth had said with mock-sternness. A string of profanities was all she got in reply. _

_"Ugh... I've just got a really bad headache today..." He'd said, rubbing a temple with one hand, "But I will finish it. Just you wait and see." Elizabeth had simply rolled her eyes at him... but he hadn't let her down. He had finished it, before starting to cough worryingly, and then developing chest pains, and then developing a case of full-blown grippe that was so bad he'd almost died... They'd been through a lot... _

Elizabeth sighed, sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up. She wouldn't cry. She _wouldn't_. She'd should've known Beckett couldn't be trusted. A terrible thought made her go cold with dread – what if Beckett revealed where she was hiding out to the authorities? Then... then they would come down here. Put her in prison. Take away William, her baby...

And Will would come back to find out that his baby had been drowned and his wife was gone, and... and... just the thought made Elizabeth feel sick. Standing up, she began rushing around the room, not really knowing what she was meant to be doing. Clumsily emptying shelves, pulling things out of drawers, scattering items across the room...

The floor became a mess fairly quickly as she stumbled around the room in a panicked rush, and then she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily. William was woken by the noise and started grizzling, until Elizabeth crawled across the floor towards him and stroked his head, shushing him until he dozed off again. Then she fell to the floor once more, her chest feeling tight, her stomach as if it were being squeezed. This couldn't be happening. Her life was being ruined, just when she thought it could finally be better again. She should never have trusted that god-awful, stupid, backstabbing...

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth... I'm home..."

...Cutler Beckett. She stood up, her eyes not leaving his. She couldn't believe it; she was slightly inclined to punch him in the face, but ended up simply looking at him in surprise, and then she stumbled forwards, a tentative but unstoppable affection filling her up. Cutler Beckett. He was here.

"You came back," She breathed, "You came back for me..."

"You? I came back for Junior," He said with a smile, and she stepped forwards into a hug – a real, honest-to-god friendly hug from Cutler Beckett... no matter how unlikely, after all they'd been through, she knew that he was undoubtedly her friend.

Her best friend.

----------

And I could end it there.

But I wont.

* * *

**NB:** The cheese! _It burns_! Sorry for the awful corniness, and the disappointment to all of you that loved the evil Beckett. Hey, he's still quite evil in his own special way--you'll see. Only one chapter left to go. Oh, thank you, thank you all who have reviewed and liked the story! I always thought this idea was a little bit too out-there, but it seems that I have people who support it; which is good. :3 

I'll say my final goodbyes for this story now, because I don't want to ruin the ending with a big fat A/N on the next chapter. This is probably the big climax over with, but what shall be the grand finale of this slightly-strange tale...?

Next update contains the end at last...

**PS:** Uh-oh... I have gotten quite a few reviews regarding the horribleness of this chapter. Oh dear. Carrot, apparently, was not a good idea. Which bites, because she wasn't even part of the initial planning--she just ended up being drafted in because I'm a big old sucker for romance like that, despite the way it ruined the story... The following is plagarized from my review reply to cazonetta;

"If you think that a life of BeckettyCarrottyness would be terrible and dull... well... I would advise you to not read the next chapter, heh...

See... I had two endings planned. This was Ending two. Ending one was where Beckett joined the navy and sailed off into the sunet with the theme tune playing, with the typical Gallant Hero Smile (TM) on his face and a sword in his hand. I was torn between Ending one and two... but I read the reviews, and it seemed that people were more swayed towards the Happily Ever After ending.

I suppose I was wrong. :( Nobody seems to like Carrot any more... heh... whoops?"

So, uhh, yessss... I think I may have just screwed up the story. Perhaps I should have done one of those vote things? Ooopsie--but be honest in your reviews, remember! Then you can help to improve and maybe I'll even revise this chapter and the next to a more suitable ending... lalala... end of my ridiculously long A/N! o-O


	42. Delightful Times

**NB:** Aw, I was almost embarrassed to post this chapter! Prepare to die of cheese, people! As for the ones that felt the story ended with more of a whimper then a bang--well, I decided I would post the original ending too! So, if you want to see the Original Ending, just skip ahead one chapter. But this is the Hopeless Romantic ending... ;) In which Beckett develops as a character...

* * *

FORTY-TWO: Delightful Times

"Daddy? Daddy, daddy, daddy! _Wake up_!"

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" With a sleepy groan, Hunter sat up, and was bombarded by three little girls and a little boy. Rachael laughed as they jumped on him, and slipped out of bed.

"Mmhmmm... no killing daddy, honey," He said, wrapping an arm around two of the girls and pulling them off of him, and onto a space on the bed, next to him. "Killing daddies is bad. Unless there's a lot of inheritance money involved, in which case it can be _good_..."

"Hunter! You're such a bad influence, honestly," Rachael said, rolling her eyes, as she picked up the little boy and balanced him on her hip. The boy stuck a thumb in his mouth and rested his head against his mother's collarbone, blonde curls tickling her under the chin.

"I'm only joking," He said with a stretch, "You girls would never kill your daddy, would you?"

"No!" They chorused. He smiled at them. Eight-year-old Louisa, six-year-old Marcia, five-year-old Helen, and two-year-old Emmanuel (it was an inherited name. Rachael's side. Poor kid.). And there was another one on the way, too. Too many children? Hah, you could _never_ have too many children...

"Today's the day, daddy!" Lou cried, tugging on his arm.

"Yes, daddy, today!" Helen smiled at him and rested her head on his shoulder. Hunter grinned, and got out of bed. They were like little screaming, hyperactive parrots. But what could you do, eh?

"Go get cleaned then, you little monsters," He said with a growl. Squealing, they all ran off out of the door – he could hear them clattering every step of the way. He glanced around the bedroom; it was dusty, wooden, second-hand, and nothing like the luxury of his past life. But in a way, one hundred times better. "You too, trouble," He said, wagging a finger, and Emmanuel toddled off after them.

"_Caaa_rrot," He said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing her on the cheek, one of his hands patting her pregnant tummy. "How are you feeling this morning?" After all of these years, he still called her Carrot. She loved telling the children the story of how they'd met, how they'd fallen in love, their winter wedding... they all knew every little detail off by heart, now. She repeated it nearly every Christmas, yet it never got old. Well, to her and Hunter, anyway – in years to come, her children would probably become fairly embarrassed by their parent's, er, mushiness...

"I don't think I'll make the trip to the island," She sighed, pulling on her apron – she had quickly gotten changed as Hunter chased his children out of the room, and she was now putting her hair in a braid. Now, she knew about Elizabeth and him living on the island and all, but she didn't know... the whole truth. Hunter felt that some things were left better unsaid. He knew that occasionally she suspected, but for all she knew – for all _anyone_ knew – he had always been Hunter Kelley. He always would be, now.

"That's alright," He said. He stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, leaning forwards to examine his face. "I'm turning into an old fart," He groaned.

"You are not," Rachael laughed, coming next to him and dragging a brush through his unruly hair. "You look the same as the day I met you. You've always been an old fart," She said with a grin

"I look so _ancient_ compared to you," He said, leaning back.

"It's only a twelve-year-difference," Rachael laughed at the face he pulled, "I've seen a lot bigger age gaps in my time." Hunter didn't seem convinced... _thirty-nine, _he thought, _and still counting. Bloody hell_. He'd been thirty when the whole adventure had started. It seemed so long ago now. "You know, you've been doing this every morning for the past five years!"

"That's because I've been crustifying for the past five years," He said, half to her, half to the mirror, and then he wrapped his arms around his wife's upper back with a smile, resting his head on one of her shoulders. They just looked at themselves in the mirror for a few minutes. "What a hideous couple," He said. Rachael smiled and rested her chin on the top of his head.

As is evident, he had changed a lot. Not... _too_ much, perhaps you can tell, but a lot nonetheless. He guessed that listening to that little voice in his head was nothing but trouble, in the long run. He'd squashed it like a bug. And now... well, you've seen. Okay, so it wasn't like this _every_ morning. And sometimes, life was a bit hard, having to – goodness – _work_ for his money, and all.

In fact, last winter had been so bad, they'd been scraping the bottom of the barrel foodwise – literally. They'd had to borrow money from Rachael's parents. The nights could be cold and Rachael had had one miscarriage due to a bitterly cold winter and them not being able to afford a proper midwife; just a quick, street one, like Mrs Dawson. His new life wasn't all sunshine. But still...

Cutler Beckett? Huh, who was Cutler Beckett?

----------

They walked down the dirt-track, that went past their small farm – a few of chicken coops, a small herd of cows, and a couple of acres of corn, all donated as a wedding present from Rachael's pa, what more could you want? – towards a small house near the edge of town. It was after a quick breakfast, and Rachael was staying home with Helen and Emmanuel, and Hunter was going to visit someone, with his two eldest girls hanging off of his arms. They picked blackberries from the hedges on one side of the pathway.

"Aw, jeesums, not again," Lou complained as she pricked her finger.

"Don't say jeesums, Lou," Hunter scolded, picking a blackberry off of the bush and handing it to her.

"But Abby Myers says jeesums!" Lou insisted.

"Abby Myers can say just what she wants," Hunter said, pulling her along by one small hand, "I don't want any daughter of mine sounding like a hick, understand?"

"So-rry daddy," She said tiredly. Hunter was very particular about manners and suchlike – with his accent and all, Rachael was pretty certain that he was of a somewhat upper class birth and upbringing... she didn't ask, though. He didn't want to talk about his past, and apparently didn't have a family; well, apart from one...

"Go and knock, then," Hunter said fondly, and strolled along at a leisurely pace as his two girls raced forwards to go and hammer on the door. _Better then slave labour, really_, he thought – uh, tenderly, of course...

"Hey there Lou, Marcia," The woman who opened the door smiled.

"Hel-_lo_ aunt El-_iz_-a-_beth_," The girls chorused, "Is Junior in?!"

"He is," Elizabeth laughed. Her hair was done especially, coming down in bouncing curls, and she still seemed the same; her skin perhaps not as dewy, a few lines around her eyes, but other then that, she looked as beautiful as ever. Hunter walked forwards, smiling, as his daughters scampered into the house.

He'd convinced her to move into the house on mainland, to make it easier for herself – and so that Junior could go to school. He was hardly ever referred to as 'William' these days; he'd always been Junior. And Hunter and Elizabeth were... brother and sister now – well, as far as anyone knew. He'd said to Elizabeth that it may be safer for her to change her name too, seeing as she was the one that was wanted, but she'd told him where to stuff his idea. He wished sometimes that he could go back to his old name, but it would mean stirring a lot of things up in his family, and the EITC probably suspected him as a criminal now, or something, for not giving the order; and not coming back immediately and begging for forgiveness the second he'd washed up.

"Today's the day," He said to Elizabeth.

"Yes... it is..." Elizabeth smiled and closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss. "The day is going to drag, isn't it?" She asked, snapping her eyes open.

"Most probably," Hunter replied, as three kiddies ran out of the house. His two girls... and William Junior, nearly ten years old...

----------

Hunter had to row to the island – just like old times, he'd commented – and when they arrived, Elizabeth, Junior, Lou, Marcia and Helen (who had joined them) all clambered onto the beach; the children began running around, laughing and playing, though Junior was rather quiet. Elizabeth nervously fiddled with her hair. Hunter sat nearby, his eyes on the horizon. And, sure enough...

"Look over there. Something's coming," He said. Elizabeth craned her neck, and then put her hand to her mouth, wordless. "We'll... give you time alone," Hunter stood up, and rounded up his girls.

"Daddy? Where are we going?" The girls asked.

"To the forest. There's a... friendly teddy bear in there. I wonder if we'll see him?" Hunter smiled, thinking back all of those years. Good times.

"Grrrr!" Helen cried, wrapping her arms around one of his legs. He imitated her growl, picking her up and swinging her into the air. Helen giggled as Hunter lifted her around behind him, giving her a piggyback into the forest.

"Last one there smells like Donny Parker!" Marcia shouted to Lou, and they both charged off up to the forest.

----------

It was him. It really, really was him. As he stepped onto the beach in front of her, Elizabeth could do little else but gasp in amazement, her hand coming to her mouth again, her eyes wide with shock. He... he hadn't changed. Not a single bit. The picture of him in her mind had been fading away with every year he was gone... but now, it all came back. Everything. In astounding detail.

"Oh... my darling..." She sobbed, rushing forwards and wrapping her arms around him. He was hers again – and she was his again. Forever; now they had each other, and every single toiling day of the last ten years seemed to fade away, because it was worth it. Her lovely husband, he was worth anything. Everything. He put a hand to the back of her head, cradling her, and then a little boy stepped forwards. Junior looked up to Will Turner, and Will Turner looked down to Junior.

"Papa?" Junior asked.

----------

"What's happening, daddy? Who's that man?" Lou tugged on Hunter's sleeve, pointing down to the family reunion happening down on the beach. Helen and Marcia also both turned to look.

"He's a very special man. He's Aunt Elizabeth's husband. But he had to... ah... go away for a bit." He pulled Helen onto his lap, and Lou grabbed a hold of one of his arms, and Marcia trotted up behind him and put two small arms around his neck. They looked down at the beach for a little while. "This is called a happy ending. But... it's just beginning, too..." He said wisely, laughing.

"What does that mean, daddy?" Helen asked, in her little baby-voice.

"It means... it means that this all makes for delightful times," Beckett said, with a smile. "Delightful, delightful times. And I can't wait to see his face when he recognizes me..."

Delightful times followed. And that, as they say, was that.

----------

"And what happened next, dad?" Asked the small boy, tilting his head.

"Well," Junior – still going by the name nickname given to him all that time ago – said with a smile, "Just as Uncle Cutler said. Delightful times." He grinned and patted the young boy on the head.

"Is that where I got my name from?" He asked.

"Yes," Junior laughed, "Just like he always wanted."

"Oh, gosh," Cutter said, "I love a story with a happy ending."

THE END.


	43. A Universal Matter

**NB:** Here is the original ending--for all of you people who love Evil Beckett a lot more then Reformed Beckett. I was torn which one to post right until the last minute; and now I've decided to post both because I'm unproffesional like that. :P And this is the final chapter! I hope you enjoyed the story! squeeks x

* * *

THE ORIGINAL CHAPTER 41: A Universal Matter

So. You've read the story. Read it—and wept at the horribleness of it all. I'm really sorry. I didn't realize so many people felt this way. But, never fear; for in one of those ever-famous Alternative Universes, something very different happened. Something very different indeed.

----------

Beckett nearly wrote his real name on the piece of paper, but saved it just in time, quickly scrawling _Hunter Kelley_ on the parchment, and looking up at the faces around him, who seemed mostly disinterested. And why would they be interested? He was just another recruit, just another man trying to find fortune in the navy. Just another man. Move along, move along.

He smirked to himself, wondering how they would all be behaving if they knew exactly who he was. Before his failure, of course. He knew that he could hardly say, 'Oy, I'm actually Cutler Beckett,' now. Not only would they probably not believe him, but they probably would either fire him on the spot for failing to give the command to fire on board the _Endeavour_, or suspect him of working on the pirates side (him being alive and all,) and perhaps even hang him. Hey, there were suspicious times.

Relishing the feel of his new uniform—well, perhaps 'new' was a slight stretch—he looked himself in the mirror, seeing a very faint line under one eye, a little souvenir from the explosion. He noticed that, however annoying, the solider was right; he looked gaunt, a shadow of his former self.

Well, that's what you get from living on berries.

His skin no longer had the powdered, upper-class paleness, but sunburned and slightly tanned; which would probably be a disadvantage in clambering back into the cosy little niche of aristocratic society, but he was smart. He'd figure something out—he didn't need to _look_ the part.

"Are you going to stand there admiring the way you look all day or what?" Roared his new superior, "Get to it, Kelley!" Beckett frowned. He was now 'Kelley'. Great. One slip of the tongue, and it's over. This brought his thoughts to Carrot. He nodded smoothly at the officer with a slight smile, and walked out of the fitting area of the recruiting office, where he'd been given his new uniform.

It was a shame about Carrot. He'd... well, uhm, ugh. It was best not to think about it. He supposed that he had—liked her. Quite a lot... he'd never had dealings with the lower class before. He'd always gotten Mercer to do it.

Ah, Mercer. It was never easy, finding a good clerk/assassin-for-hire, and Mercer had been one of his best. Sadly, Mercer was dead. Davy Jones had killed him. Damn Davy Jones, and all of those other scummy pirates. But that was his mission, wasn't it? He wouldn't rest until every last one of them was wiped out from the planet.

A rather tough goal in life? Hah. He couldn't fail, he was Cutler Beckett.

Well. Hunter Kelley.

----------

The captain said that they were leaving that very evening for their first patrol. They'd be going far away from here, apparently. Good. Just the way he wanted. Then he wouldn't have to pretend to smile and wave at a downtrodden Carrot every time they ported. He... he would miss her. They were friends.

And they wouldn't ever be anything else—certainly now.

Elizabeth. He reluctantly let his thoughts slide back to her as he stepped onto the road, and began making his way down to the quay, to her rowing boat. He'd have to make sure someone went back with the rowing boat, because he had effectively trapped Elizabeth on the island. She could die. And that... that wouldn't be a good thing. He sighed, thinking hard about it.

He should hand her over to the redcoats. He really, really should. She could be aiding pirates. She was a friend of the pirates, and had, for a while, been Pirate King. She deserved punishment for the illegal and violent things she had done.

But the problem was... he didn't want to. And this puzzled him, a _lot_. It wasn't like him to be this way. He shook his head, and began walking back towards the recruiting office. The rest of the newest recruits had wandered off to drink their last day on land away at some pub, waste their first wages on a couple of pints of bitter. But not him—he had far more important things to do.

In the office, he helped himself to a blank piece parchment, a quill and an inkwell—nobody seemed to mind. You just had to _look_ like you were doing something important, and nobody would pay you any mind. Well, he _was_ doing something important.

He finished the letter with a flourish and his characteristic smirk.

Now to go and spend his first wages on something far better then bitter.

----------

Elizabeth sighed, looking down at William in the crib. Her tears had long since dried, and it had turned into a hard resolve. The sun was setting—Beckett was gone. And he had taken the only boat on the island, leaving a woman and a baby stranded. Selfish pig! She wasn't sure what she'd do without supplies from land. She could try to live it out—but how long would it last? It was February, so there were no fruits or berries were to be found on the island.

Stroking the baby's head, she pulled on a warm, rough cloak and stepped outside, the breeze tickling her face. She closed her eyes, trying to let the cool air soothe her; but it didn't work. Her blood was boiling with rage, and her heart was empty with sadness.

Jack had been right—she _never_ should have trusted him. But he'd seemed so... _sincere_. Just goes to show, doesn't it? She found herself trekking down through the forest, remembering the good times. Because, yes, there had been good times. Without Beckett, none of it would have happened. Beckett had made her stay so far seem almost... yes, _fun_.

She smiled a little to herself, thinking of the bantering arguments, the silly misunderstandings. Beckett looking after her through pregnancy. Surely only a true friend would do such a thing? It was so confusing.

As she arrived on the beach, she looked out to the ocean... and the smile died on her lips. There were two rowing boats in the water, heading towards her island. Directly towards her island. There was nowhere else they could be going, because there was no other land for miles and miles. Her heart seemed to go cold, and her stomach clench, sickeningly.

She couldn't see the people in the boats—but she could faintly guess who they may be. Navy officials. Would he have? Could he have? Elizabeth felt sickened.

No. Yes. Maybe.

Why?

--------

Beckett sat in the pub with his fellow recruits, his legs crossed, no drink in his hands. He'd spent his first wages already—but he knew that it was for the good of things. He chatted idly to the other recruits, though he wasn't really interested in anything they had to say. Brainless buffoons. But still, no matter; he didn't have intelligent conversation now, but soon, he would climb the ranks.

He grinned, feeling pleased with himself.

----------

"Oy, missus," The boy shouted. Elizabeth turned around, slightly surprised. She wandered back down the beach, still wary. She wasn't sure about this; but he was just a boy. And she couldn't see anyone else. "Are you Elizabeth?" He asked, in his rough, lower-class accent.

"I... yes," Elizabeth finally said, drawing her eyebrows together, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Oh, I got paid by some bloke to bring this to you," The boy gestured to the boats—one of them was empty. It was her rowing boat, tethered to the back of his. He must've rowed all the way here by himself—hard work. "He paid me all the money he 'ad," The boy said, looking pleased with himself.

"Alright..." Elizabeth said, nodding. At least Beckett didn't intend to kill her, then.

"This too," The boy said, waving some parchment in her face. She quickly took it, and her eyes shot to the bottom of the page. _Cutler Beckett_. The same, looping handwriting. She looked up to him.

"Anything else?" She asked.

"Naw, missus," The boy said, "I'll be goin' now." Elizabeth nodded, and then grabbed her rowing boat and dragged it up the beach—once she was done, she turned, and saw that they boy was already far out in the water. Elizabeth fought her curiosity, and began walking back up to her hut. Once there, she sat down on the bed, which creaked slightly, and began to read by the candlelight.

_Elizabeth, _

_It was a shame to end things on such bad terms—especially after you (in a way) saved my life. So I've given your rowing boat back, a peace offering, or something of that persuasion. I am sorry for having to leave you, but you weren't honestly thinking of keeping me tied down on that island for the rest of my days, were you? _

_We did, in a way, 'make friends'. Perhaps a mutual amity would be a better way of describing it, but I digress. This is the reason I am giving you a head start; I haven't handed you in yet. But who knows when I'll succumb to the temptation? A promotion sounds very nice about now, seeing as at the moment I'm being ordered around by a man whose thoughts probably huddle together for warmth, and I am going to be bunking in the leakiest part of a ship being yelled at to tie ropes properly. _

_Still, I'll give you a head start. I'll resist telling tales; but for how long? It all depends on how much you trust me. Feel free to stay on the island for as long as you please... but you never know who might come to visit you. _

_My regards to Junior, who I liked a lot more then I liked you. He was the reason I didn't take off the second he was born—well, and the grippe illness that nearly killed me, I guess. But never mind. It was a unique experience being on the island with you, Elizabeth... being, as it were, an islander. _

_So, goodbye. I'll be seeing you. Perhaps very, very soon. _

_Cutler Beckett. _

_Post Script: You couldn't possibly eat this letter or something, could you? I don't really want to be connected to you in any way **when** you're found._

Elizabeth glowered, though perhaps biting back a tight smile, as she folded the paper up again, forcibly. Oh, she would be keeping this all right. He was, after all, the one that had told her all about leverage.

"Beckett," She muttered to herself, lowly.

And though they were now far away from each other, the battle continued for many years to come.

----------

"Do you ever regret joining the navy?" An officer asked, as they both stared out to sea, off-duty, for once. Beckett looked down at the rolling waves, as a few splinters of ship drifted past, followed by a black flag with a skull and a heart on it. The flag dipped and bobbed—and then sank without a trace.

Beckett's gaze travelled upwards, and at the wrecked carcass of a pirate ship, slowly sinking into the water. His blue-green eyes let nobody in, and they let nothing out. Just as it always had been—just as it always should be.

"No," He said with a small smile, a shallow curve of the lips, "I don't regret it."

THE (OTHER) END.


	44. The Runaways

THE RUNAWAYS

_the sequel nobody's been waiting for_

* * *

Beckett's on the run.

Elizabeth's in trouble.

Armed with nothing but their wits, a baby and a broken gun,

another crazy escapade ensues with our bantering duo...

With lives hanging in the balance, can they learn to trust each other?

Of course not.

* * *

Yes! Beckett and Elizabeth will soon be back in a second adventure, full of deception, motherly love, drama, handcuffs and full-on insanity. The sequel will be to the original ending--the one where Beckett leaves the island; there isn't really anything that can continue the other ending. In the Alternative Universe, Beckett runs off to join the navy.

In the Alternative Universe, Beckett tries for a new life.

In the Alternative Universe, Beckett's new life ends up leading straight to certain death if he's not careful. Things are about to get messy in the cushy life that Beckett planned out for himself. He ends up alone. On the run. Wanted by every soldier in the country. He has nothing to bargain with, and nobody to run to.

...or does he?

Cue cheesy theme muic! The first chapter will be up tomorrow[**Addition:** It's out now!

It just so happens that an unfortunate twist of fate brings Beckett crashing back into Elizabeth's peaceful world, and again, they are both dropped straight into a complete madness that they can't get out of--but this time, lives are at risk, and the air runs thick with blackmail and lies, especially thanks to an unknown man who's making it oh-so-harder. Oh dear--fate just wont leave them alone, will it?

* * *

Yup. This probably wont be as popular as the original. They never are. But those plot bunnies just demand to be let out. So let's see what happens, eh? I've managed to sort the entire plot in my head--so now it's time for the sequel; the Runaways. It will, of course, be posted as another story. Exam times are coming around, so the updates may be less frequent--I'll try my best to come online for ten minutes or so and post up a chapter a day, though, and reply to the reivews... that is, if I get any. ;)

squeeks x


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